


Original Sin

by lawfulgayheel



Series: Land of Gods & Monsters [1]
Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Demon Deals, Developing Relationship, LGBTQ Themes, M/M, Magic, Mental Health Issues, Religious Conflict, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:33:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 70,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23813104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lawfulgayheel/pseuds/lawfulgayheel
Summary: Fate draws together the strangest souls: a pompous heretic prince and a demonic hermit of a mage. They never had to like each other, they just had to coexist.
Relationships: Aleister Black | Tommy End/Velveteen Dream, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Series: Land of Gods & Monsters [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1744219
Comments: 1
Kudos: 4





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I got possessed around Christmas and have been working on this ever since. It's like the same principle as Betting Man, I mentioned off-hand to Hope (co-author of this account) that Aleister is tieflingcore and then I wrote a 70K fic. 
> 
> Some notes!:  
> -Coming up with location names is my least favorite part of world-building so I used a couple generators for that. There's zero meaning to any of them.  
> -There are HEAVY and very intentional D&D influences, but you don't have to have any D&D experience to read this. But hey, extra points if you can spot the specific spells I used in this.  
> -This got weirdly political because I guess that's just who I am as a person. I try to write something light and fun and my brain's like "that's cool but what if this was also about class tensions and religious hegemony?" I'm extra and that's my fucking problem.  
> -I can never tell if what I write constitutes as a slow burn, so I had to get certified by my boyfriend who's the embodiment of that "not to sound like jane austen or anything" Tumblr post. So if this isn't slow enough, blame him.  
> -Um. This was thoroughly edited and beta-ed but I still have the nagging feeling that there's something wrong with it. Tread carefully and be gentle LMAO.

_ “If this is what you wish, child of man, then I shall relieve you of soul and name, and bestow them upon you anew…” _

Dream startled awake in his carriage. It was the same nightmare as always. Like every other time, the first thing he did when he woke was check his wrist. There it was, the seal of the pact, branded into his skin. He vividly remembered a burning grey hand wrapping around his forearm and the searing pain as it bore into him. The seal almost glowed back then. Now it sat, dulled, like an old scar. One wouldn’t know it was there unless they were looking for it. Even he sometimes forgot it was there. He sighed, sliding his sleeve back down.

Pulling back the blinds, he peered up at the sky. The trip was longer than he anticipated, and the sun had begun setting. Butterflies stirred in his stomach. Wandering around a rumored haunted forest didn’t bode well under any circumstances, more so in the darkness. But he didn’t have any choice.

The carriage slowed to a halt, and he exited with a graceful hop. After paying off the driver for his services and silence, Dream settled his bag around his shoulders, gripping the strap tightly as he stared into the dense woods. This was as far as horseback could take him.

A rough hand tapped at his shoulder. The grizzled old driver had yet to leave. With a grave look on his face, he held out a lantern.

“Good luck, Your Highness.”

The sound of hooves faded into the night as Dream sized up the gift. A small pendant hung from a chain at the base of it, with an unrecognizable rune on it. Curious. He wouldn’t have pegged a common man, not of the cloth, to be a purveyor of any sort of magic. At the very least it guaranteed that, even if Dream hadn’t paid him copious amounts to keep his mouth shut, the driver was unlikely to spread the word of his latest exploits.

Would it matter if he did? He was the youngest of eight, he hardly had any responsibilities, as far away from the position of crown prince as he was. He could live an opulent and free lifestyle, allowing him to do as he pleased. He whiled his days away with luxurious parties, surrounding himself with beautiful and attentive company. He flourished under the lights, his very presence intoxicating, as crowds hung onto his every word and gesture. At least, that’s how it used to be.

He looked at his wrist under the glow of the lantern. The socialite lifestyle had to be put on hold. He had an old wives’ tale to look into.

On _ that day, _ something went terribly wrong inside of him. There was a darkness that grew within his heart each day. It started small, a slow disinterest building up as his energy began burning out. He found himself so frequently listless and bored. The spotlight did nothing for him. No amount of holy men were able to find anything wrong with him, but he knew. He knew what he had done, what he had traded away. He knew he had only one shot at fixing it, and it was a long,  _ long  _ shot, at that.

There were ancient tales, carried verbally among an eclectic few commoners, not a single written record to be found in his country, spoke of a different kind of human. A race of men with the blood of devils in their veins. The recorded encounters were spotty. Horns and forked tongues and fangs. A deep blackness in their eyes that made you realize they were something different, something wrong. Infernal magic.

He didn’t find those answers in his palace. For these tales, he retreated to the outskirts of the city. Dressing down until he was unrecognizable felt familiar, but not comfortable. No one was looking at him, and it was by design. He felt like a child again, before he discovered himself properly. Shoving the undesirable feelings aside, he sat quietly before the elderly shaman as she spun her words. Her calming, convincing mannerisms instilled a blind faith in his heart that he instinctively wanted to reject, but he hung on, hearing her out.

_ Don’t fret about knowing where you’re going, _ she advised. _ He will find you. _

_ Who? _

_ Oh, his name? His name is… _

Dream had done a lot of foolish and impulsive things in his life. Most of them he could at least reason out that he was caught up in the moment. He could find a thought process behind it. This? This had nothing. This was calculated foolishness. Waltzing blindly into a cursed forest in search of a mythical devil magician on the off chance that he might know something about reversing demonic contracts? What was he, stupid?

He set his jaw, eyes wandering about the foliage. He wasn’t stupid. He was desperate.

He lifted the lantern, looking about. He had heard a lot of bad rumors about this place, known commonly as the Unresting Wild. It bordered more than half of the small country of Cineia, its reputation heavily encouraging its citizens not to leave. Mutated animals, emboldened by the absence of humans, prowled about at all hours as unafraid apex predators. Cruel spirits of the damned hung in the air, reaping the souls of wayward travelers and the stupidly brave. Even the plants themselves were evil, the underbrush slithering up to snag your ankles while the trees strung you up by your neck. Finally, there was the forest’s keeper, a demon who took on the form of a man. It was rumored that if he touched your face, the universe’s darkest secrets would unfold before you. After a brief flash of clarity, a calm unlike any they felt before it, madness took over his victims as they clawed down to their skulls, willing the knowledge to disappear.

With a sniff of disdain, Dream squared his shoulders and continued onward. There was nothing worth being afraid of in the woods. If there was any wildlife, it was more afraid of him that he was of them. The only sign of life was a faint chorus of frogs, chirping away as dusk fell. He was starting to feel like he got set up to waste his time.

As the frustration and despair began to build, there was a prickle at the back of his neck. He was being watched. Instead of fear, he breathed a sigh of relief. Someone or something was out there, and it found him.

His hand wandered to the hilt of his sword at his hip. Just because something sought him out didn’t mean it was as friendly as the unexpectedly mild woods. He clenched at the handle, then let go.

_ You don’t want to fight him, young man. You will not win with steel. _

Stifling the disquiet in his heart, Dream turned around.

A man clad in black stood among the trees, motionless. His clothes were simple and unassuming, the only standout being the hooded shawl draped around his shoulders. Even with the hood pulled up, his keen eyes glowered among few face tattoos. It was like he was looking through Dream. There wasn’t a single weapon on him, nor anywhere to hide one, but Dream wasn’t fooled. This man was dangerous. Anyone traipsing around in the dark unarmed was a weapon themself. This was exactly who he was looking for.

Tilting his head, he finally spoke, “Aleister Black.”

The only change in the man’s expression was the barest narrowing of his eyes. “You know me.” A statement, not a question.

Heartened by the confirmation, Dream stepped closer.

“Of you,” he corrected, circling him carefully. “The man with devil’s blood, walking through an infinite darkness, huh?” Leaning in close, he hummed, “You don’t look so special to me.”

Nothing.

“I expected someone more impressive, not some hermit in the woods.” He eyed the hood curiously. “So tell me, did I come all this way for nothing? Or can you live up to your reputation?”

“I think you should go.”

Dream pursed his lips, taken aback. He wasn’t responding to goading. That was annoying. He wandered closer, leaving only inches between them, sizing him up and down.

“You’re one of them, aren’t you?” He murmured. “A demon?”

Aleister sighed through his nose when he asked that, and Dream was close enough that he could feel the air on his skin. He smiled.

“And if you’re a demon--”

“I am not a demon.”

“--you know about contracts. Don’t you? Dark magic?” He scrutinized Aleister’s unchanging expression, looking for any kind of tell. “Fine. But even if you don’t say anything, I know you do.” He carefully touched under the other man’s bearded chin, lifting his face, “I know you have something that I need. And if you give that to me,” he lowered his voice, “I can pay any price you ask.”

The words hung heavy in the air. Their eyes locked together, Dream daring Aleister to look away first. He tilted his hand, stroking under his chin with two fingers. He didn’t mind waiting for his answer. He had all the time in the world, and the view wasn’t bad either.

“This isn’t a simple hobby for humans to dabble in,” Aleister finally spoke, unruffled. “You need to leave this place, and leave any ideas of demonic contracts behind.”

Dream dropped his hand with a huff, prepared to step back, and plead his case in earnest. Aleister stopped him before he had the chance. He seized his chin with a firm grip, mirroring what Dream had done. Dream’s eyes widened.

“And I promise you, there is no amount of provocation that will change my mind,” he whispered, close enough for Dream to spy a set of sharp canines.

He lingered for a moment, then let go.

“Fine,” Dream set his jaw, putting down the lantern. “How about this?”

Tearing back his sleeve, he presented his marked wrist. He didn’t allow his gaze to falter, even as Aleister’s eyes dropped accordingly. He wanted to see his reaction, if there would be a reaction. He needed to see if this was enough to crack that stony demeanor. He had to know how serious what he did was.

Aleister raised his eyebrows. That was it.

Then he picked the lantern up off the ground, grabbing Dream’s wrist with his free hand. Holding the light close, he began muttering under his breath, fixated on the mark. Then he went silent. He still didn’t let go.

Then finally, he breathed out, “What have you done?”

“...I think you know.”

Aleister looked up, eyes sharp and accusatory, “Why?”

Dream’s eye twitched. He never disliked being looked at, regardless of the reason or emotion behind the stare. This look, though, it was different. People had looked at him with disgust before, that wasn’t a new sentiment. The utter abhorrence in Aleister’s stare was paralyzing. It was as though simply bearing the demonic mark was an intentional slight to him.

_ It wasn’t on purpose. Stop staring at me like that. This isn’t who I am. _

He bit back the defensive cries, deflecting instead with, “It doesn’t matter. I just need to fix it.”

The look fizzled away, and Aleister regained his passionless demeanor. Straightening up, he released the harsh grip on Dream’s arm and shoved the lantern back into his hands.

“If you want someone to fix your soul, go see a holy man.”

With that last bit of unhelpful advice, he turned and walked away.

“What? Hey!” Dream scrambled after him in vain, as darkness had fallen completely over the tangled woods. “Black! Get back here!”

Tripping his way through the underbrush, there was no way Dream was going to catch up with him. It was a wonder the other man could move so quickly with no light of his own. Dream wasn’t giving up yet. Aleister was the first person who showed any signs of recognition towards the mark on his wrist, and he wasn’t about to let that lead go. That hateful look in his eye said he knew that mark intimately. Even if he couldn’t reverse the damage done from it, he had to have answers about how to live with it at least.

To his dismay, his body couldn’t keep up with his mental stubbornness. His feet slowed to a halt, eyelids heavy. He had to stop for the night. Drifting about in the dark was getting him nowhere, and it was a miracle he hadn’t broken an ankle on all the damned roots and rocks popping out of the ground.

Finding a clear spot on the ground, he dropped down unceremoniously. As unsuspecting as the forest seemed, there was no harm in putting down a few protective runes. He just had to remember them.

Closing his eyes, he thought hard, back to sitting at the shaman’s table. He remembered watching her drag her fingers through the dirt, sculpting strange symbols with an eerie glow to them.

_ That looks easy. _

_ It is easy! The hard part is trusting in your power. _

Dream scoffed at the memory. He had never lacked for confidence. He didn’t need some batty old lady encouraging him with little inspirational speeches. He knew how good he was. Magic was just…new.

He took a deep breath, trying to find that place inside himself where he could touch the bristling magical energy. He envisioned it, a flaming orb of light, with a royal purple glow to it. As he reached out in his mind, he reached his hand out before him, spreading his fingers, grasping. When he opened his eyes, the purple light danced around his fingertips. His breath shuddered, and it flared brighter, traveling up his wrist.

“No, no, no, no,” he muttered, closing his eyes and balancing himself once again.

As calm and even breaths flowed through him again, he opened his eyes. Keeping as steady as he could, he outstretched his index and middle fingers. Holding his breath, he drew the sigil into the ground, watching as the dirt lit up beneath his touch.

_ Now let go. _

Uncurling his hand the rest of the way, he exhaled. He watched the fire extinguish from his fingers. Though he didn’t care for being alone in the woods at night, he was relieved there was no one around to see how he shook when the light died out. He flopped down, using his bag as a pillow. The trembling had nothing to do with whatever fear he may or may not have felt. Magic was draining. Besides, he was already exhausted from running about the woods for gods only know how long. He wasn’t afraid, not of the forest, not of magic, not of himself. Those were his last thoughts before sleep overtook him.


	2. Chapter 2

It was early when Dream awoke, the sun only barely peeking up between the tree trunks. He absently rubbed his forearms, wishing he had the wherewithal to take out a blanket before knocking out the night before. The cold of the forest and the wet dew on the ground were deeply unpleasant.

Sitting cross-legged on the forest floor, a few feet away was a not entirely unwelcome figure.

“Are you lost or just stubborn?”

Dream ignored the question at first, rooting through his bag for his cloak. Wrapping himself up, he returned the stern look Aleister was giving him.

The truth was he _was_ too stubborn to leave, but even if he wanted to, he would get lost. He wasn’t about to give Aleister the satisfaction of that knowledge.

“I told you, I’ll pay any price,” Dream smiled back. “If you want me to waste my time out here, I’ll waste my time.”

Aleister cocked his head to the side. He was curious. Dream snagged his attention.

Crooking his hand and resting his chin on it, he mused, “Is that really what you want from me? Such a waste of an offer.”

“I don’t need money.” He cleared his throat lightly, “Or anything else.”

Dream flashed him a playful smile, “You sure about that?”

“Very. Show me your wrist again.”

“Your loss,” Dream subdued a laugh, holding his arm out with a slight flourish.

Aleister didn’t immediately move to take it. Instead, he let out a little sigh at Dream’s mild theatrics. Breaking eye contact, he gingerly accepting the offered hand. He turned it around, bending the forearm up and carefully twisting the hand so that its palm was facing forward.

His hands were surprisingly warm around Dream’s wrist, sending heat throughout the prince’s body. He stroked the mark, tracing its intricate shape. Then he covered it with his palm, closing his eyes. His fingers subtly curled into a loose grip. His thumb drifted up over Dream’s radial vein, stilling. His eyelids fluttered like he was sleeping, dreaming. For a while he just sat there, breathing evenly. Then suddenly his brow furrowed, and he frowned. When his eyes opened again, they were looking at Dream’s face and they had that accusatory glare again. Shifting his grasp, he turned his attention back to the uncovered mark.

Dream didn’t like that look Aleister gave him, but he kept silent through it. The experience was becoming more uncomfortable by the second. His legs and back were beginning to complain from sitting in the same position for so long. Though it was difficult not to speak up, there was a touch of irrational fear that, should he distract Aleister substantially, he would undo whatever it was the other man was learning. That is if he was learning anything at all. Another anxiety crossed his mind. What if Aleister was a fraud? What if he had been led astray, coming this far, and this was all a waste of his time?

Biting his bottom lip, Dream quieted the buzzing thoughts. He couldn’t be a con man. Going the extra mile like this, turning down open-ended payment offers, it would be counter-intuitive to say the least. If Aleister really was trying to swindle him, he would have pounced the night before.

Still, he was taking a hell of a long time staring at Dream’s wrist.

“Belial,” Aleister spoke softly and suddenly, as if to himself and not to the man patiently waiting for an answer. “Interesting.”

“That’s it?” Dream couldn’t stay quiet anymore. “That’s all you have to say?”

Aleister’s eyes flickered over to Dream’s face, “Yes.”

“What does it mean?”

“You’re rather impatient for someone who’s asking for quite the favor from a stranger.”

“Do you even know who I am?”

“No,” Aleister dropped Dream’s arm. “Well, I know you’re a rather foolish human who made a deal he didn’t understand.” He straightened up, “I don’t care who you are.”

That was a first.

There were some situations where Dream had to keep his identity close to the vest. During most of his research attempts and trips to the shadier parts of the city were prime examples. This, however, was the time to leverage his birthright to his advantage.

“You should care, I’m a prince,” he scoffed. “You understand how much I can pay you to skip this whole,” he made a little encompassing gesture in Aleister’s direction, “cryptic playing hard to get wiseman garbage?”

Aleister eased himself upright and began walking away.

“Hey-- hey!” _Not again!_ Dream scrambled to his feet, grabbing for Aleister’s arm.

Though he sidestepped Dream’s miscalculated swing, Aleister stopped in his tracks. He stared at him sidelong. Movement caught Dream’s eye, and when he looked down he noticed for the first time that Aleister had a tail. Dark grey, thin and whip-like, it’s feather-shaped end brushed at the leaves around him. Though nothing changed in Aleister’s expression, his tail slapped against the ground in what Dream could only interpret as irritation.

“You are a waste of my time,” Aleister finally spoke, pulling Dream’s attention from his tail. “Though you’ve accidentally dabbled in them, it’s clear to me that you have no respect for the dark arts. Go home, princeling.”

Dream had no response to that. He wasn’t wrong, entirely. It wasn’t like Dream was intentionally trying to disrespect magic, or profane against it or the gods, or whatever it was Aleister assumed he had done wrong. His only sin was being overambitious, a vice that plagued him his entire life. By the same token, he always worked his way out of whatever trouble his hubris got him into. This time wouldn’t be different.

“You know how I found you?” Dream spoke up. “An old shaman woman sent me here. She called you the pied piper of lost souls.” His face twitched in disgust, “Here I was thinking of you as some sort of folk hero. But you don’t seem so interested in helping people, just talking down to them.” He stepped forward, “Kicking a lost soul while they’re down doesn’t seem so righteous to me.”

“Spare me your mind games,” an unexpected haughtiness dripped from Aleister’s words. “I’m not refusing to help a “lost soul,” I’m refusing to help an entitled, spoiled little prince clean up the mess he made.”

Dream made a _tsk_ sound, a hand on his hip, “What do you want from me? You want me to beg?”

The hand hanging at his side clenched into a fist. Begging. He promised he would never lower himself to that again. He had only just gotten the stench of the outskirts off his skin days before his trek to the forest, and now, here were the ghosts of his past yet again.

“You want me to beg,” he repeated, the incredulous nature from his tone lost. “Really.”

Aleister seemed to consider it, and the silence twisted Dream’s stomach into knots. Then the other man turned on his heel, facing him head-on.

“No, I want you to be honest.” Edging closer, he plucked Dream’s hand at his side, turning it over to reveal the brand, eyes locked on it as he continued, “You come here seeking absolution. Do you think you can achieve that without confessing your sins properly?”

He tugged his hand away. He knew that. Still, he hoped deep in his heart that he could scrape by giving him as little vulnerable information as possible. He hoped that the story behind the contract wouldn’t matter, wouldn’t have anything to do with breaking it. He wanted to bury the incident in question and move on. Even if he couldn’t break the contract itself, it would be enough to have someone who understood the power it imbued upon him. If Aleister understood that power, he could teach him how to wield it properly. He could stop it from hurting. He could stop that violet flame from nearly engulfing him every time he tried to touch it.

The truth of the story was embarrassing. It was pathetic.

“...No.”

“So tell me.”

Aleister wasn’t prying for the sake of prying. Dream doubted he cared what life circumstances pushed him to make the contract, but he instinctively feared that judgment. He couldn’t let him know the full truth, so he twisted it a little.

“Fine,” he raised his hands defensively, looking down and taking a deep breath. “I made…a deal. In exchange for magic. That was it, that was all I asked for. Just magic to,” he shrugged, words coming out rushed, “benefit my family in some way. It’s a dying art in my kingdom and,” he put his hands together and sighed, glancing skyward. “Look, I don’t even know if I want to break the pact. I just need to understand what…exactly it did to me, and,” he dropped his hands, looking back to Aleister, “I need someone to teach me how to control it. So, will you help me?”

It was mostly true. The end was true. That’s what counted.

As Dream pled his case, Aleister’s expression shifted to something thoughtful, though still hesitant. He was intrigued. Dream hooked him again.

“You come all this way simply seeking a mentor?” His tone was even but suggested a touch of skepticism.

Dream wanted to laugh. At least the part he was questioning was the part that was actually true. He could defend that.

Instead, he rolled his eyes, “It’s complicated. The most established practitioners in my country are clerics and, as you can imagine, no holy member of our pantheon is too keen on deals with devils.”

Aleister raised his eyebrows with a little nod as if to say, okay, you got me there. His tail wavered ever so slightly. 

“I admit your circumstances are of interest,” his eyes dropped to Dream’s wrist, even with the brand not showing. “For my own curiosity, I shall consider taking you on as a pupil.”

“Consider?” Dream interjected in a flat tone.

Looking him in the eye, he continued as though uninterrupted, “I still do not know if you would seek to do harm with these powers. Nor do I know your nature as a student.” He hesitated, “Although if the gods have turned you away…I feel it may be my responsibility to help you in their stead.”

Dream bit his tongue. He hadn’t exactly been “turned away,” but it was a safer bet to not ask for help from any religious officials. The humiliation he would have to endure, the prospect of banishment for blasphemy, it wasn’t worth it. It was far easier to take a sabbatical and track down more suitable aid.

“Who better to teach me than a demon, right?”

Aleister’s lip twitched, eyes sullen. “I’ve told you once already, I am not a demon.” He tugged down his shawl, revealing pointed ears and two horns curving back from the shaved sides of his head, tinted the same grey as his tail, “I’m a tiefling. Now, you know my name, why don’t you do me the same courtesy?”


	3. Chapter 3

Dream didn’t have any expectations for Aleister’s home. Based on his dour disposition and understated wardrobe, he assumed it would be a homey little shack in the woods, or maybe a cave somewhere. He couldn’t get the “forest hermit” aesthetic out of his head.

Instead, Aleister’s house was…a tree.

The Wild was full of huge and magnificent trees, but this yew was the most impressive specimen of all. The branches stretched out forever, conducting the rest of the forest. While the magical sentient plants rumor didn’t check out, this tree would make Dream’s belief waver.

There were a number of structures connected by one grand winding staircase. Dream passed a quick thanks up to whatever gods overlooked the forest that there would be no tree climbing in his immediate future.

Though it was clear the house was inhabited by a human, or rather, a tiefling, the way it flowed from the wood, its colors and textures matched perfectly to the bark, made it seem almost as if it had grown naturally from the tree. It must have been from a spell or series of spells. Dream had no interest in growing tree houses, but it was fascinating and he was curious. It would be worth asking Aleister about in the future.

_That can’t…possibly be your name._

_It was part of the contract. It took my name._

Dream peeked at his host’s face, no longer obscured by a hood. Aleister had been eerily silent since learning that last detail. It wasn’t an angry silence, but one of a thoughtful nature. Dream could deduce that the condition was strange, but not something that personally offended him, this time.

The way the devil presented the terms to him made it out to be a very normal exchange. It didn’t seem like it was strange to give up, at that moment. As time went on, he even got used to it.

He wasn’t revoked from using his name or forced to change it. It was gone. No matter how hard he thought about it, he couldn’t remember it. There was no trace in the rest of the world that the name ever existed. He and his history still existed, but his name was erased from time, replaced. Velveteen Dream was an outlandish replacement for sure, but it suited him. The way people said his name was different from how they would say a more mundane name, but he was never one for receiving normal treatment. The way Aleister arched his brow at him was too familiar.

Dream was torn between whether he wanted to hone his magic, not just control it, or rid himself of it altogether by erasing the contract. He wasn’t concerned about getting his name back, not when his new name felt so right.

Stepping into Aleister’s home, the first thing Dream noticed was way too many cats. One step inside and he counted four. None of them were bothered enough to get up from where they lounged, so there was a small blessing. It wasn’t that he disliked cats, per se. He disliked anything that left any residue on his clothes after he touched it.

The house was cozy. Dream had expected more of a mad wizard vibe. Pickled toad eyes in jars and bird’s bones hanging from the rafters. A few summoning circles on the floor. More books.

Finally, something other than the cats and the strange humanness of the house presented itself. Across the common room was a long table with models of trees covering it. That in itself wasn’t special, but the way it shifted and glimmered was worth checking out. Dream glanced at Aleister, who was busy lighting lanterns and tending to each of the cats. Quietly, he slipped over to the table, keeping an eye on his host.

At first glance, it was a nondescript cluster of trees, but at the center of the table was unmistakably the tree that Aleister called his home. It was a map. It was straightforward, but there were a mysterious dots freckling it, some glowing brighter than others. A few of them moved about, while others remained sedentary, and others still disappeared. A notable cluster came from inside the tree. They were mostly little speckles, but there were two that shined brighter than anything else on the map.

_Is that us?_

His hand hovered over it. Though the landscape wasn’t moving, the air around it did. As his fingertips neared the figures, he felt it pulsate against his skin. He didn’t dare touch the map, afraid the pressure could turn into pain. Whether it was a trick of the light or something magical in nature, the map began changing colors. A violet haze wafted over the map. Pulling his hand back, he tried not to panic, hoping whatever he did wasn’t permanent. At least Aleister hadn’t seen--

Aleister was behind him. Dream turned, smiling sweetly as though he hadn’t been up to anything.

“Don’t bother with the act,” he cut Dream off before he could begin. “You’re curious, aren’t you?” Joining Dream at the table, he touched the centerpiece, and the haze dissolved. “Go ahead. Ask what you will.”

Glancing at Aleister, then back at the map, he sighed and admitted, “I don’t really know where to start.”

“Tell me what you see.”

“It’s a map of the forest.”

“What else?”

“It’s magic. It moves. I mean, the air around it does,” he went to gesture at it, but then kept his hand back, not wanting a repeat of whatever he did with that mist. “And parts of it glow. Like stars.”

“You have a good eye.”

Dream frowned at him, then it occurred to him Aleister wasn’t patronizing him for only being able to point out the obvious. His face didn’t suggest any ill towards him. He didn’t look happy either, but Dream suspected that was how his face always looked.

Looking at Dream obliquely, he commented, “You don’t know a thing about magic.” He held up a hand to stop him from snapping in response, “I don’t mean this as an insult. Were you well versed, you would know being able to visually detect magic is uncommon for a beginner.” Leaving it at that, he turned, beckoning with two fingers.

Dream watched him go, with mixed feelings. Aleister wasn’t hostile, but his frosty demeanor rubbed Dream the wrong way. Moreover, he had more control over the situation than Dream had, and that was going to be hard to live with.

The next room over was a little dining area, with a connecting kitchen. There was a table, low to the floor, too short for chairs. A little orange and white tail poked out from underneath it. The room was clean but bare. The house as a whole felt empty. It was livable and pleasant, but it didn’t seem like a home to anyone.

“Sit,” Aleister gestured to a cushion sitting at the table, then walked off to the kitchen.

The second Dream got comfortable on the floor, one of the cats climbed onto his lap.

“Oh, no,” he tried to shoo it off, keeping his voice down.

Instead of scuttling off, it flopped down, tucking its head against his knee. He could see little bits of fur already gathering on his pant leg.

“Get off,” he kept his voice hushed, glancing to make sure Aleister was still in the kitchen.

He didn’t want to insult Aleister or his beloved cats, but he didn’t want to become furniture for the little beast either. He prodded it with one finger. It barely stirred. Nudging it lightly with his knee did nothing to wake it either, although it whacked him with its tail in annoyance. Suddenly Dream knew what Aleister’s tail reminded him of.

Footsteps informed him it was time to mind his manners again. Aleister put down two clay mugs, steaming hot, before gracefully falling into a cross-legged position across the table.

“Seems you’ve made a new friend.”

Dream forced a smile, “Mm.”

“An unwanted friend.”

“Oh, no, not at all,” he put on as convincing an air as possible, sliding his mug closer to inspect it instead. “And this is…?”

“Tea. Rosemary and mugwort.”

Not something Dream was familiar with, and the first sip let him know it was for good reason. He kept a neutral face, trying not to give away how terribly bitter it was. Aleister was watching him with intent, unblinking. It had to be a test.

Placing the cup back down, Dream smiled thinly, “Has anyone ever told you you’re extremely unsettling?”

“Yes.” He didn’t blink. “Something wrong?”

“It’s a little,” even if he was quipping at Aleister, he tried to hold back on insulting his hospitality, if that’s what it was, “hot.”

“Ah, forgive me, I’ve taken a bit of a sabbatical on humans,” Aleister straightened up, no longer staring holes into Dream. “I’d forgotten how temperature-sensitive you are.”

Aleister relaxed, signaling the test may be over. His eyes were keen, regarding Dream with ambiguity. Dream couldn’t get a read on him, but he knew he held his gaze, and that was all that mattered.

The first order of business was relaying as much information as he could in regard to the contract. How he summoned the devil, what the terms were, any details that stuck out as suspicious if he _could_ pinpoint what “suspicious” meant under the circumstances.

There were too many vulnerable details in his story, things Aleister didn’t need to know about him. In his own mind, they were on a need to know basis. He would have to tread the line between straight truth and vagueness.

“In my position, there are expectations for me regarding magical arts,” he explained. “Because of my mother’s bloodline, I’m expected to be proficient in these sorts of things. But I,” he subtly looked away, adding a touch of hesitation and softening his voice, “didn’t have it.” He paused as if pained to continue, “Do you really need to know all of this?”

“Do you consider it prudent to hide information from me?” Aleister shot back calmly.

“You’ll have to excuse me for not wanting to bare my soul to a stranger.”

“You’re asking a stranger to save that soul you’re baring.”

Dream looked up at the ceiling in frustration, then back to Aleister, “I’m the youngest son and the last son. None of my brothers can use magic. I was the last hope, and I failed.” Genuine emotion was starting to bleed into his voice, “My mother is gone. All of the clerics I’ve spoken to said if her magic didn’t manifest in me by age twenty, then that’s just the will of the gods.” With a pressed, bitter smile, he shook his head, “Time’s running out.”

Since his nineteenth birthday, Dream spent most of his year praying to whatever gods of the Cineian pantheon were listening. He was practically living at Ishtar’s temple the month prior to the contract. There were no signs, no blinding lights from the heavens fixing his problems. It felt like the end of the road. Then he found it. Laying outside the courtyard, as if fallen from a passing carriage, was an old, fragile-looking grimoire. He knew it was too good to be true, but in his desperation, he convinced himself it was his late mother looking after him. Had he been thinking straight, he would’ve found it odd that all of the pages were lines of unreadable symbols, except one. One single line in the Common alphabet, and when he saw it he was seized with the innate need to speak the words out loud.

“Do you have it with you? The grimoire?” Aleister interjected.

Dream shook his head, “After I made the deal it disappeared.”

Saying it out loud for the first time felt so stupid. It was a trap.

Instead of the judgmental disgust he expected, Aleister made a soft and thoughtful humming noise.

“When I touched the mark of your contract in the woods it enabled me to look into the memories surrounding it,” he began explaining. “You seemed so confident in those moments that I expected this was something very intentional.” Inclining his head, he asked, “You never meant for any of this to happen?”

“Of course not.”

Aleister went quiet again, studying Dream’s face for tells. He absently traced circles on the table with his middle and ring fingers.

A wave of pressure blew over Dream, the air turning warm. He stiffened, bracing himself against the table. The cat on his lap glared at him, mewing its discontent.

Aleister’s hand stilled and his eyebrows rose, “You felt that?”

“Are you casting something on me?” He scooted back, fully disrupting the cat from his lap this time.

“I was, but…” He trailed off, then changed direction, “I understand the driving force behind this is obligation, but is that all?”

Dream put up one finger, “Back up, what were you just trying to do to me?” He glanced down at the tea, “Is there something in this, too?”

“It was merely a mind-reading spell, nothing nefarious. The tea is equally harmless, although the combination of herbs limbers you up spiritually, so you may want to get used to the taste.”

“Merely” wasn’t the modifier Dream would use for something as invasive as mind-reading, but he wasn’t terribly insulted by the idea. To Aleister’s credit, he _was_ slanting the truth to his benefit. Now that he knew what the spell felt like, it just made it easier for him to defend against it. Far from being offended that Aleister tried it, Dream felt bad for him that it didn’t work, and it wouldn’t work in the future. He had more control over their situation than he thought.

“Obligation,” Dream repeated. “What is a noble’s life if not obligations?” Absently brushing cat hair off his pants, he continued, flair in full form, “Were I to have lived up to my predicted potential, I was to be an adviser, a facilitator connecting the powers of the gods themselves to the royal family. I told you, magic is a lost art, isolated to the clergy, those who are chosen by the gods. Do you know how we protect our borders from bandits and invaders and monsters? Praying. Waiting around for divine intervention while our subjects suffer.” He turned his hand over, opening it, staring at his brand, “The clerics of my country might limit themselves to healing and blessings, little parlor tricks, but I know if I took control of the magic resources we have, I could make them a force to be reckoned with.” With a sniff of disdain, he closed his fist, “Maybe that’s corrupt, an abuse of the dark arts, as you call them, for political gain. But I’ll do whatever it takes.” He dropped his arm with a weak, breathy chuckle, “That was my plan. And the years ticked by.” Setting his jaw, he shook his head, “I tried turning back to the gods out of desperation. You know the rest.”

There was a glint in Aleister’s eyes, lips parted in a stunned expression, leaning in as he hung onto every word. He was right where Dream wanted him.

“Do you…truly believe all that?”

“Would I be slumming it in the woods if I didn’t?”

Leaning back, Aleister exhaled, shoulders relaxing. Dream wondered if his eyes always looked like they were trying to see into the soul of whoever he was talking to.

Let him see, then.

“Okay.” Aleister spoke again, “You’ve made your case for what it is you want to do. Now, what is it you want me to do for you?”

“Oh, Mr. Black, don’t tease me like that,” Dream flashed a flirtatious smile, unable to help himself. “I told you, I need guidance. If any of the church leaders find out how I got this magic, I’m done for. I can’t have them prying. I need to come back to them as a complete product, no room for questions.”

“And how long do we have?”

“We” was a good sign.

“I turn twenty in a little over six months.”

Aleister clicked his tongue in disapproval, “Not much time. I won’t make any promises.”

“Then what will you do?”

“I would like to take a closer look at your contract mark.”

He already identified the devil associated with it and took a peek at Dream’s memory of the incident. Dream didn’t know what else he would have to discern about it to be an effective teacher. All he could do was agree and see where Aleister went.

There was a series of divination rituals he wanted to perform. Before he could risk allowing Dream to practice magic, he had to be sure his soul was ready for it. There was a certain level of spiritual health he needed to be at in order to avoid magical backlash, and Aleister refused to take any chances. It was bothersome, wanting to spend a day, minimum, running his tests while time was short. Still, he was the expert, and Dream was merely the pupil--the potential pupil.

Dream’s trust in Aleister’s ability wasn’t enough to keep them from butting heads on other issues.

His original intent was to entice the hypothetical sorcerer into coming back to the palace with him, especially after finding out it would likely take the full six months to train. He could duck out of the city for short periods of time with no trouble. A six-odd month absence for training was too long and would raise suspicions and concerns.

Aleister neither had any interest in living at the palace nor was comfortable in doing so.

“My understanding is that Cineia is a monarchy by name and a theocracy in practice,” he explained as he rummaged about the shelves of his study. “I hold nothing against any gods or their followers, but I will not be beholden to them by decree of any government.”

It was either Dream stay in the woods to train or no deal. Aleister wouldn’t budge on the matter. The longer Dream tried to come up with any persuasions, the more reasons he realized it would be borderline dangerous to bring Aleister home. Cineia’s population was entirely human, with only the occasional non-human ambassadors blowing through, and none of those ambassadors were ever tieflings. Aleister would look like a monster to them, and his association with Dream would cast scrutiny on his newly found powers. Dream already dealt with enough scrutiny from the rest of the world. He would have to figure out an excuse to stay.

There wasn’t anything he could think of that they really needed him for in the near future, aside from his birthday. It was the blessing and curse of being the youngest. He could play at coming down with a frivolous case of wanderlust. The king would buy that.

Dream tried to formulate the letter he would write as he stared at the ceiling of the study. The only instructions Aleister gave him were to lay down on the magic circle, stay still, and keep quiet. It was the perfect time to scheme after he got a good read on the strange room.

The study, a shack perched at the top of the staircase, was more lived-in than the rest of the house and contained arcane components that Dream expected from a sorcerer (still no pickled eyeballs, yet). Dream watched as Aleister located various supplies with ease and fluid movement. He knew exactly what he needed and where it was, despite the sheer mass of heavily stocked cabinets. It was likely the house wasn’t very lived in because he spent all his time in one room. Dream would have bought that he never left, had it not been for his no cats allowed in the study rule.

A scent akin to honey and vanilla wafted through the air as Aleister lit his incense and candles. The room darkened, blinds pulled down, only the tiny flickering flames serving as lighting. Even with his sight dulled, Dream was all too aware of Aleister’s presence as he sat inches away from his head. He had a subtle, spiced, woodsy smell about him that was gradually being swallowed by the sweetness of the incense.

Quietly commanding Dream to relax, Aleister went to work.

First, he lifted Dream’s hand, turning his wrist to get a better look at the brand. He drew a box around it, leaving a trail of powder on Dream’s skin. The residue grew hot, and Dream tensed up in spite of Aleister’s instructions. It felt too much like the devil’s hand on him, like its claws burning its mark into him. He must have made an involuntary noise of discomfort because Aleister made a gentle _shh_ sound, then, oddly, stroked his forehead. It was more than a soothing gesture, Dream understood, as an inexplicable calm settled in his chest.

Aleister was chanting something under his breath in an unidentifiable language. Between the rhythm of his voice and the calming spell, Dream grew drowsy. He closed his eyes and found himself in between consciousness and sleep.

_Am I doing this for the right reasons?_

The thought struck him, unwanted and unprompted. He was doing it to build a future for himself. It was self-preservation. It was how he could cement his legacy in a family that would rather him exist quiet and ordinary. Surviving used to be enough, but things were different now.

He would use what he learned for good, for the benefit of the kingdom, but that was a secondary purpose, not his main goal. He would do the right thing, eventually.

As he reaffirmed this to himself, he felt a horrible sickening heat flood his head. Opening his eyes, he tried to shake it off. Then he froze.

Aleister was straddling him, one hand pressing him down over his heart. His eyes were wide open, and purely black. The candles in the room had gone out, but the room glowed with grey fog. Ashes and smoke smothered the pleasant aromas of the incense. 

Dream only recalled one other time he felt so afraid.


	4. Chapter 4

According to Aleister’s terrifying ritual, Dream was in fine condition to be trained, ready to be molded into a juggernaut of a sorcerer. (Those were Dream’s words, not his.) Even with that confirmation, Aleister was reluctant. He saw no evil in Dream’s heart or sickness in his soul, but he didn’t know what to make of him.

And so Dream suggested a trial. He let Aleister set whatever time limit he wanted, and in that period he could do with Dream as he pleased. A few suggestive statements later, he clarified that he wanted Aleister to test him. If he merely tried teaching him, Dream would have no trouble proving his worth. That was what he was best at. All he needed Aleister to do was agree to give him a shot. He would only need one. He wouldn’t miss.

He always postured himself as one of those naturally gifted people who excelled in whatever they tried. Granted, a significant part of that success was attributed to a chip on his shoulder and an unwillingness to give in. He made it seem like it was all innate talent; like it was easy. He had limitless potential, and even if he didn’t, he would make people think he did.

For someone who started so far behind all of his brothers in learning the duties and responsibility of nobility, he caught up absurdly quickly. The word “prodigy” was passed around frequently. It wasn’t inaccurate, but he knew in his heart that he was simply outworking everyone else. All the raw talent in the world couldn’t make up for passion. He was fortunate enough to have both.

After thinking things over, off in another private room, Aleister agreed to give him a chance.

A day later found Dream sitting on the forest floor, mirroring Aleister’s cross-legged pose, waiting for lessons to begin proper.

“Since coming here, I’ve seen you use magic unknowingly,” Aleister began. “Have you ever tapped into your power with purpose?”

“Yes. I cast a protection spell my first night here.”

“Is that all?”

“...Yes.”

That was the only spell he cast _successfully_.

“Why?”

“Why?” Dream raised his eyebrows. “I already told you, I can’t get training from anyone in my kingdom. Aside from some old books I found, I don’t know anything.”

“Not all mages are taught classically. To many, it comes innately.”

With a twinge of annoyance, Dream reminded him, “Well it didn’t _come_ innately to me. I traded my soul for it.”

“No, you still have your soul. Infected is a more apt word, for what ails it,” Aleister corrected. “…And I have some news you may find very unfortunate.”

“...Well?”

Aleister was hesitating. That was a bad sign. Then he took a deep breath.

“Magic is not a trait you gain by blood, nor piety. By the will of the gods, all living creatures possess a degree of magic in their souls. And though praying to one’s deity of choice is a way to hone that skill, it’s not the only way. I understand that’s what you were taught?”

Dream’s hands clenched into fists, resting on his knees, as he muttered back, “That’s right.”

Aleister’s eyes softened, “You never failed. You were simply misled.”

“And look where that got me!” He spat. “I “infected” my soul? Because, what, I didn’t believe hard enough in the gods?”

“...Had you been born elsewhere, someone would have seen the potential in you and been able to guide you to your proper path.” He held up a hand, stopping the frustrated onslaught building in Dream’s throat, “You cannot change the past. What you must do now is choose how you live with your mistakes.”

Dream closed his eyes and exhaled, trying to untangle all the knots inside himself. Aleister was right, of course. Even if they managed to reverse the contract, there was no turning back at this point. Then something occurred to him.

Opening his eyes, he spoke painstakingly, “If I always had the ability to become a mage…what did the contract do to me?”

Aleister glanced around, looking for _something_. Reaching behind him, he plucked a rock off the ground. Turning it around in his hands, he launched into another explanation.

“Though magic comes from within the soul, it’s not the soul itself, not quite. There’s an inner part, most call it the spirit.” He looked up from his rock, “Your spirit is the driving force behind your magic. Some people find that connection through faith, while others through knowledge. Nature. Death. Light. Darkness.” He held the rock out to Dream, “This is magic. Close your hand.”

The explanation seemed a little simple for needing a visual, but Dream humored him. When his hand closed into a fist, Aleister put both hands around it, locking his fingers together. Dream’s hand reflexively tried to push against him but stayed tightly sandwiched in Aleister’s grip.

“Imagine my hands are your soul. Only knowing “faith” as a driving force, and lacking “faith,” your soul was conflicted. Your spirit laid dormant, trapped under these layers of uncertainty.” He squeezed his hands for emphasis. “Belial preyed on those insecurities, drawn to your troubled heart. He took your soul and changed it.” He loosened his grip, slowly pulling back until his fingertips were touching, still loosely cupping Dream’s hand. “He unlocked all of your potential, but at a price. Try and open your hand.”

Puzzled, Dream opened it, and Aleister’s hands popped off at the slightest brush of his fingers.

“Your soul has been weakened,” he continued. “It cannot hold back your spirit anymore, but neither can it control it. Your spirit, your magic, is volatile. A cup about to overflow. You’re running before you can crawl, and every time you use magic, it--”

“It threatens to consume me,” Dream finished, staring at the rock in his palm. “There’s a flame in my mind’s eye that I’ve seen every time I’ve tried to cast a spell.”

“You’ve tried more than once?”

“Yeah,” he admitted, voice dropping. “But I couldn’t go through with it.”

“And the protection spell?”

Finally looking up from his hand, Dream frowned, “What about it? It worked.” _I think._

“What happened when you cast it?”

The night flashed back into his mind. The way his hands trembled under the eerie glow of magic was a hard image to shake. It was a moment that felt truly dangerous, and for such a beginner level spell. It made him feel weak.

“My hand lit up. It looked like the fire. It started at my fingertips, but then it…” he trailed off, flexing the fingers of his free hand, eyes trailing up the back of his arm where the light had once burned. “It kept going up. I don’t know how I stopped it. Deep breaths or something.”

“You centered yourself. Very wise.”

It was a panicked reflex, but Dream took the compliment. He murmured noncommittally in response.

“The same thing happened when you touched my map,” Aleister reminded him. “That purple energy, that’s what you see?”

Dream nodded.

Folding his arms, Aleister leaned back. The tip of his tail wavered and twitched. He was silent for a long span.

There was nothing Dream could do. He answered an objective yes or no question. There was nothing he could rephrase or take back. What was taking Aleister so long to respond?

Finally, Aleister exhaled through his nose and said, “This is a tremendous task you’ve asked me to undertake. To be blunt, I would, under most circumstances, say no.” He tilted his head to the side, “However, I believe it would be irresponsible of me to let you roam about with your abilities unchecked. With that in mind, I ask that you not make light of this training.”

Dream never had any intention of doing that. He did make a mental note not to play around with Aleister too much. He still would, a little bit. It was impossible not to. Aleister seemed so stern and cool-headed, he immediately tickled that need to provoke that lived within Dream. He wasn’t bad to look at, either, even with the horns and fangs. Flirting with handsome, stoic men was second nature to Dream. Regardless, he didn’t want to risk making Aleister regret taking him on. He would try to behave.

“Do tieflings shake on deals?”

With that touch of hesitance that seemed to prelude most of Aleister’s responses to Dream, he extended his hand and they shook.

From there on out, Dream assumed they would be on the fast track to shaping him into the sorcerer he was destined to be. After all, they had a time limit.

Instead, Dream found himself hunting for flax in the woods while Aleister waited nearby on a stump, thumbing through the old scrapbook the shaman had gifted Dream.

The two came to the agreement that it would be a waste of time for Dream to return home, and he would have to settle his affairs via letter. One of many drawbacks to that was Dream’s unpreparedness for an extended stay, notably his limited amount of clothes. Aleister volunteered to fabricate him new clothes, but he would have to get the materials himself. When Dream protested, Aleister asked when the last time he had done any menial physical work was. Dream lied and said he couldn’t remember, then got to work.

Discipline and humility, Aleister explained, were key when it came to training in any field, and he didn’t know if Dream possessed either attribute, yet. He would be watching Dream’s reactions closely when given those types of lowly jobs.

Dream didn’t say anything to that but wondered what Aleister thought nobles did all day. Even after he was set properly on his path as a prince, there was plenty of physically taxing work, though not something one would call hard labor. No matter, he would do the small jobs and hold back from complaints. Discipline wasn’t something he struggled in. Humility, though, was not one of his strongest assets.

On his knees, Dream stretched, undoing the kinks in his back from hunching over. He found what he thought was enough flax for the spell, but the longer he poked around for it, the more he thought of how utterly boring wearing linen nonstop would be.

“What about silkworms?”

Looking up from the book, Aleister narrowed his eyes at Dream, “Silkworms?”

“You heard me.”

He looked back down, tracing circles on the pages, “Why do you need silkworms?”

“I need silk. I don’t care where I’m living, the Dream is not going to get caught wearing the same drab rags for six months.”

“You want me to make you silk clothes?” Aleister’s incredulous tone had a hint of amusement.

“If I bring you the material, you can do it. Can’t you?”

Wordlessly, eyes still on the pages, Aleister pointed in the direction of a mulberry tree. Smoke curling around his fingers dissipated almost as soon as it appeared.

Later that night found Dream assessing Aleister’s work in the mirror.

“You have an eye for this sort of thing, Black.”

It was a genuine surprise. He touched the bit of pale gold embroidering around the frill of the collar. It was such a specific, delicate touch. It was something directly out of Dream’s wardrobe. There must have been some element of mind-reading to the spell. Or Aleister was making a rough estimation of the clothes he had seen Dream in already. Then again, he likely had a life outside of his little forest. He probably hadn’t always been a hermit.

Dream looked over his shoulder in the mirror, noting Aleister’s eyes were glued to the book still, rather than paying any attention to him whatsoever. It was a crime, really, not admiring how good his own work looked on Dream.

“That book tell you the secrets of the universe yet?” He spoke up.

Closing the book for what seemed like the first time in hours, Aleister replied, “It isn’t magic. It’s folk remedies and luck charms. And yet you’ve managed to imbue them with your spirit.”

“Meaning?”

“You put raw, unfiltered magic into these sigils and brought them to life. It’s impressive but dangerous.”

“Dangerous how?”

“If your focus was off, and you missed the mark of whatever kind of spell you intended to cast, things could have gone wildly different. Instead of protecting yourself, you could have drawn the attention of…less than reputable eyes. Or started a forest fire. There’s no telling what you could have done.”

Dream turned, giving him a smug smile, “Good thing I don’t miss.”

“...You’re good, but you’re also very lucky,” Aleister berated him. “Until you have greater control over yourself, please refrain from any attempts at spellcasting.”

Raising his right hand, Dream replied, “Consider me refraining.”

A hard look on his face, Aleister handed the book back. He didn’t care for Dream’s flippancy, but he was keeping it to himself, verbally. That was fine. Dream didn’t need Aleister to like him, they only had to coexist for a few months and then it would be over.


	5. Chapter 5

Magic lessons were boring. Dream understood that the state of his spirit was unstable, but two weeks had passed and all Aleister taught him how to do was meditate. Granted, he was going through a lot of academic points with Dream; learning the different schools of spellcasting alone felt like a week-long endeavor. Dream could even admit that he wasn’t excelling with flying colors at meditating, either. It wasn’t really his thing. Sitting still and quiet for so long made him restless. He spent more time watching Aleister while they meditated than actually doing it himself. It looked so easy when he did it. Truly, Dream wanted to stop his thoughts from flying around in his brain, but it wasn’t coming to him. Everything else would, if Aleister let him skip that one little step he couldn’t get over.

Then Aleister made the mistake of letting him borrow his personal grimoire-- to look at, that was all!

Sitting on a log in the field, he inspected the tome, turning it around every which way. It was heavy, bound with leather, with symbols not unlike Aleister’s tattoos embossed on the black cover. He felt heat radiating off it, the same way it radiated off Aleister. When he undid the latch and flipped painstakingly through the old, weathered pages, he saw the same alphabet that had filled Belial’s book. The hair on the back of his neck stood up.

The language was called “Abyssal,” Aleister taught him that already. It was the language of devils, but it was no longer exclusive to them. Seeing it still spooked him, bringing back the sensations of the nightmare that replayed in his head every night. He instinctively touched the brand on his arm, reassuring himself that it was an old scar. The cold skin of his palm brought his body back to reality.

With a cooler head, he studied the cryptic scrawl. The way the ink hit the thick paper made it seem like it was burned into the pages. Touching it, he felt a slight dip in the letters, confirming it was some kind of etching.

When his fingertips brushed it, the heat from the book slithered over his hand.

He blinked. Without changing, the letters began forming words, and he understood them.

Written on the page was an immobilization spell. There were various methods listed, ranging from paralysis to psychic chains. Some were more difficult than others, but they all seemed to yield roughly the same result. The target wasn’t going anywhere.

Dream stifled a scream when something grabbed his wrist and yanked his hand off the paper, throwing his concentration off entirely. Aleister was standing over him, frustration painted on every feature.

“You’re doing it again.”

His heartbeat was making his chest hurt. Aleister was right. It wasn’t intentional, but magic slipped from his fingers. He couldn’t read the book, not with the naked eye.

Aleister reached over him and shut the book rigidly, exasperated. In retrospect, “borrow” might have been a charitable interpretation of what Aleister said he could do with the book.

Latching it back up, Dream lifted the book towards Aleister with an innocent smile. The body language with which Aleister accepted it was neutral, but his face was irate.

“You need to learn to control yourself.”

“It wasn’t on purpose.”

“That’s the problem.”

With that, Aleister stormed off, or tried to. Once he put a few feet of distance between them, an invisible force yanked Dream off the log, and he fell to the ground with a shout. Stumbling in his own right, Aleister turned back.

“What was that for?” Dream snapped.

“I didn’t do that! You did that!”

Aleister lifted his free hand and jerked it back. Dream’s left hand was dragged up violently, and he stifled another cry.

Invisible chains. He was thinking about invisible chains when Aleister spooked him.

Now Aleister’s fury was in his face, his body, and his general energy.

“You snuck up on me when you knew I was casting a spell,” Dream quickly accused him. “Don’t pin this whole thing on me.”

“It is on you!” Aleister lashed out. “I told you, do not take this out of my sight,” he thumped the cover of the grimoire for effect.

He clearly wanted to say more, but he held back, despite the telltale twitch of his eye. Tucking the book under his arm, he touched his affected wrist, then waved his hand over it. He frowned and did it a second time.

Dream collected himself enough to sit upright. Against the dying light, it was hard to see the grey aura that was Aleister’s magic.

Aleister repeated the gesture a third time, with notable urgency, his eyes wide. He looked at his hand in disbelief.

“I can’t break it.”

“Should I--”

“ _No._ Don’t do anything.” The short way he was speaking denoted panic bubbling beneath the surface. “There are other ways. Get up, we’re going back to the house.”

Dream hastily got to his feet, ready to get this debacle solved and put it behind them.

Three steps in and Aleister stopped abruptly, letting out an anguished cry before stumbling back and dropping to his knees. Shoving the tome aside, he grabbed onto his left hand, a pained groan slipping through his clenched teeth. His eyes squeezed shut in pain.

Squatting next to him, Dream grimaced. The skin on Aleister’s fingers was seared off. Looking up, he tentatively reached out to where the other man had stopped. The closer he got, the hotter his own hand felt. They were encased in an invisible wall of fire.

“Are you okay?”

“What did you do?” Aleister’s wounded whisper didn’t ask for a real answer.

“I’m sorry.” The instinctive defiance had fizzled from Dream’s voice, replaced with actual shame.

“Give me your hands.”

“What?”

“Your hands. You have cold hands.”

“O-okay?”

“Just,” Aleister grappled with Dream’s hands, wrapping them around his burned hand, letting out a sigh of relief.

Kneeling beside Aleister, who laid on the ground with his eyes closed, sandwiching his hand between Dream’s, Dream experienced what was the most uncomfortable silence of his life. Feeling like he earned it, he didn’t complain.

He suspected Aleister may have fallen asleep when the limp hand fluttered with life.

“Let go, let go,” he mumbled. “You’re sweating.”

“Sorry.” He dropped Aleister’s hand, letting it fall to his chest.

Shaking his hand weakly, as if to get feeling back into it, Aleister opened his eyes.

Retrieving the tome, the two cautiously made their way back to what they assumed was the center of the invisible fire circle. There was nothing they could do until it wore off, and there was no way they could figure out how long that would be. Aleister suggested it could be until Dream lost concentration, and helpfully offered to knock him out. Dream couldn’t tell if he was joking and weakly laughed it off without actually addressing it.

“I’m sorry.”

“You said that already.”

“And yet you’re still angry.”

“I’m not angry.”

Dream was laid out on the ground, keeping his eyes on Aleister, who was sitting cross-legged a few feet away, staring off into the distance. Night had fallen, and Aleister appeared to have cooled down.

“How’s your hand?” Dream asked with uncharacteristic timidness.

“It’s fine.” He remained silent, then surprised Dream by asking, “Why did you take it?”

“You were gone for two days, what did you want me to do? Meditate?”

His eyes flickered Dream’s way for a second, then away again, “Preferably.”

Dream looked at the foliage above them, stifling a groan. It was as good a time as ever.

“I can’t…do it,” he admitted. “I can’t turn my brain off. And when I start to, I just see, um,” he cleared his throat. “There’s this nightmare that I have,” his voice was pathetically small. “And it just starts playing. It’s all I can think about.”

At some point Aleister turned his head, paying close attention. He had a knack for figuring out when Dream was saying something he truly needed him to listen to.

Shifting back, Aleister tucked his folded hands under his chin and mused, “Oh, princeling, what _am_ I going to do with you?”

If anyone else said that, Dream would accuse them of mockery. His heart dropped. Aleister _didn’t_ know what to do with him. He was a lost cause. This was the real end of the road.

“If I could also come clean,” Aleister cleared his throat. “I am not equipped to continue teaching you. I am uncertain you can reach your true potential with me as your sole guide.” He lowered his hands to his lap, eyes dropping. “These past few days I have been seeking out help in Ashennore, with little luck.”

_“Ashennore?”_ Dream repeated dubiously. “Faethserin’s borders are a five-day ride from here, much less their capital, how have you only been doing this for two days?”

Aleister gave him a look that made him feel stupid for asking.

_Right. Magic._

“Why Ashennore?”

“It’s a melting pot of casters. We need to find someone who specializes in wild magic, and this is our best shot.”

That was the first time Aleister had mentioned wild magic. He continued before Dream could ask what it was.

“I am a truth seeker. A diviner. The way I have honed my craft is vastly different from that of a wild mage. Their magic is,” he was unintentionally at a loss for words, for once, “visceral. It is an embodiment of raw chaos and without proper guidance, you may never learn to control it.” The admission seemed to pain him, then he added in a lighter tone, “It should hearten you to know that it is a very uncommon, very powerful kind of magic. You’re a rare breed, Your Highness.”

Dream cracked a smile. “The Dream is aware of his accolades. Took you long enough to catch up.”

He swore he saw the ghost of a smile on Aleister’s face.

“We will leave by the end of the week.” Aleister laid back, stretching out on the ground, “And as for your nightmares…I can craft you a cure once I can get to my workshop. Please hold out for one more night.”


	6. Chapter 6

Dream couldn’t sleep. The forest floor was harsh against his back. No matter how he squirmed, he managed to find a new rock or clump of dirt grinding into his spine. But it wasn’t just the mild discomfort. He had slept in far more uncomfortable places in the past. In fact, he was sleeping on the floor at Aleister’s place and doing just fine. Eventually, exhaustion would win out, regardless of the circumstances. The thing that was actually keeping him awake was how _close_ Aleister was.

With the binding spell still in full effect, they could only put so much distance between them without putting tension on the tether. Every now and then Dream lightly tugged on the invisible rope to see how much give there was, and every time he came to the same conclusion: no he couldn’t move any further away, yes he was going to have to sleep with the other man literally breathing down his neck.

It could have been worse. Aleister wasn’t snoring or thrashing, as calm in sleep as he was in consciousness. Dream could even admit, if push came to shove, he generally wouldn’t take any issue with Aleister sleeping nearby him, but this was _too close._ The warmth of every breath brushed a sensitive part of Dream’s neck, sending goosebumps all over him. It had a pleasant intimacy to it, but it was the entirely wrong time, wrong place, and wrong person.

The longer he was awake, the more his reluctance to disturb the other man frayed.

“Aleister,” he said quietly, to no response. _“Aleister.”_ He tugged on the tether, “Wake up.”

Aleister’s eyes cracked open, and he made a soft grumbling noise.

“Turn your head the other way.”

“Hm?”

“Turn your head,” he hissed.

Aleister’s eyes closed and he complied, sort of. He rolled over, tucking his hand at his side, and taking Dream’s wrist with him.

At the last second, Dream managed to brace himself before he could topple onto Aleister. Steadying himself, he stared down at the blissfully unaware man he was half straddling. His brows snapped together and his jaw clenched. This was getting ridiculous.

“Aleister,” Dream snapped, dropping the hushed whisper and jerking his wrist back.

Aleister’s elbow cracked into the bridge of Dream’s nose.

Dream heard the crunch, and he _felt_ the shift in his face, but he was so shocked at the sudden impact that he didn’t feel any pain. Then his nose started leaking. When he went to wipe the blood off his upper lip, he lightly bumped his nose, and a strangled scream flew out of his mouth.

Sitting up, Aleister blinked the sleep out of his eyes, “Prince?”

“Oh, now I have your attention?” His eyes watered as he tried in vain to stop the bleeding without jostling his nose too much.

“Hold still.”

Instead of waiting for Dream to follow his order, Aleister put his hand on Dream’s chest and closed his eyes, mouthing a few words. When he pulled his hand away, a smoky grey aura curled around his fingers. The combination of the pain in his face and the effect of whatever magic Aleister was performing dizzied Dream. Though sitting on perfectly solid ground, he felt his body tipping. Aleister gripped his chin, keeping him steady. He pinched the fractured bridge of Dream’s nose, sliding his fingers down to the tip. As he did, the mist disappeared into Dream’s skin, clouding his eyes temporarily. The pang of pain from the initial touch subsided quickly, but the feeling of his cartilage being rearranged made his stomach turn.

As the greyish light cleared from his eyes, his eyelids became heavy. The pained dizziness faded into nauseous exhaustion. Though it was unpleasant, it was preferable to how awake he was mere minutes before. All the restlessness and discomfort in the world couldn’t keep him from falling asleep now. Slumping into Aleister’s waiting arms, he closed his eyes. Before his upper body touched the ground, he was out.

Though Dream’s body was stiff and ached from sleeping on the ground, when he woke up there was no lingering pain in his face. The queasiness faded, and he was as well-rested as he had been in weeks, if a touch groggy. He didn’t even have the nightmare. The invisible string cuffing him to Aleister had been severed, too. 

The other man was sitting a ways away in his usual meditative state. His eyes were closed, but he was fully aware of his surroundings, in tune with the universe. Dream watched him in silence, amazed at how still he was. His face still had a bit of a scowl on it, but he was relaxed. Watching the subtle rise and fall of his chest, Dream felt serene. Aleister’s cool air was contagious.

The peaceful night’s sleep and the general atmosphere bolstered Dream’s confidence.

As quietly as he could, Dream shifted to an upright position, shuffling his legs about to mimic Aleister’s pose. Touching his fingertips together, he lowered his hands to his lap. He closed his eyes, taking in a deep breath.

He might not be able to shut everything out and off, but he could pinpoint his focus. He thought about Aleister, still as a statue, willing himself to contract his tranquility.

The empty blackness behind his eyes changed, and he could see Aleister, in a sense. A greyish aura outlined and filled the space he once occupied in Dream’s field of vision. It was an odd thing to witness, perpetually moving, and yet maintaining the same shape. A featureless cloud, but so distinctly Aleister. Was that what _he_ saw when he meditated?

“I would like to apologize for breaking your nose.”

The words jolted Dream out of his trance, eyes flying open. It was jarring, the bleak mist in a black space suddenly being colored with flesh and cloth and tattoos, framed by trees and sunlight. The whiplash hurt his eyes.

Grounding himself, he touched the bridge of his nose, testing to see if it was really healed.

“It feels okay?”

With a grunt of affirmation, Dream muttered, “You need to keep those reflexes of yours in check. What kind of sorcerer uses his elbows to break someone’s face? The least you could do is put a curse on me next time I startle you.”

“Yes, well, I didn’t always embrace magic for what it was. You should feel fortunate that a broken nose is easier to reverse than the psychic damage a curse could do.”

“So you _can_ use healing magic,” he confirmed. “How interesting.” He inclined his head, “That’s uncharacteristically holy of you.”

“Nothing holy about healing magic.”

That was news.

“I’m listening.” Then he scoffed, “Or have you officially suspended your duties as a teacher?”

Aleister shook his head, “Ashennore has an excellent magic institution. Their resources alone allow me to at least help you better yourself, until we find a suitable substitute. I will continue to guide you until then. I promise,” he spoke those last words with his hand on his heart. “Now, what is it about healing magic you find holy?”

It pained Dream to admit it, but he never knew a life outside of Cineia’s capital, Renaize, or its outer districts. When people got sick, they were taken to the clerics of their deity of choice to be healed--for a price. Aleister’s lip curled in disdain when Dream explained that bit.

“Did you ever have to do that?”

There was a different look in Aleister’s eyes when he asked. There were many other questions he asked Dream where he had an agenda. There were times where he was “seeking the truth,” or testing him. This question was sincere curiosity, highlighted with distress on behalf of Cineia’s citizens, and Dream by extension.

Dream tried not to smile. It would’ve been a weird time to do so, but innocence was a good look on Aleister.

“Only once,” he replied. “After my mother’s passing. She was a gifted healer. I was lucky, I never needed to worry about that.”

Aleister’s brow screwed up in confusion, “The queen was a cleric?”

_Shit._ “Yeah. Unusual, I know. But true love finds a way,” he winked.

Aleister was puzzled, but Dream didn’t feel any attempts at mind-reading, or truth-seeking, or whatever it was Aleister wanted to call his prying.

Before he could ask further questions, Dream followed up, “So. Healing magic: not so holy after all?”

“Oh, yes,” Aleister collected himself. “Healing magic is the same as any other. If you root your powers back to faith, perhaps you could call it holy, but that is not a universal truth.” A pause. “While it was the will of the gods that put magic in our souls, it is the will of mortals that allows us to practice it. The desire to cure, the desire to recover, that is what healing magic hinges on.” He placed his hand over Dream’s chest the way he had done the night before. “The caster’s spirit calls out, willing the body to be well. It doesn’t bestow any kind of blessing, it merely speeds up the natural healing process.” He lowered his hand, “That being said, it is not a perfect art. Sometimes it can be too late. Sometimes the afflicted party can’t or…won’t pull through.”

Dream absently touched the spot Aleister’s hand had been resting, “You mean if the sick or injured person doesn’t want to get better.”

“Do you find that hard to believe?”

Dream shook his head. “But what if you, what if the caster’s will is strong enough to…” He trailed off as Aleister shook his head.

“You can only reach so far. Helping the unwilling is futile.”

The air was heavy with unsaid words.

Dream’s gaze dropped to Aleister’s injured hand. The other man was lightly touching the area, fingers twitching underneath the pressure. If he was in pain, his face didn’t show it.

“I take it you can’t heal yourself,” he nodded towards Aleister’s hand.

“It is impossible,” he held his hand up, stretching his fingers out, studying them. “But this is hardly anything. It will heal naturally.”

“How…simple of a fix would healing it be? Out of curiosity.”

“I’m not teaching you that yet.”

_Damn._ Dream grinned, “Can’t blame me for trying.”

Not dignifying him with a response, Aleister rose to his feet and beckoned Dream to follow him back to the house.


	7. Chapter 7

When the light from the teleportation spell wore off, Dream stumbled on wobbly legs. He steadied himself, grabbing Aleister’s shoulder. He felt a warm hand resting at his lower back, another touching on his chest.

“Easy,” Aleister did nothing to hide his amusement as he helped Dream regain his bearings.

“Alright, alright,” Dream shooed Aleister’s hands away, doing a little turn to get fully out of his grasp. “Don’t crowd me.”

“Perish the thought,” Aleister sidestepped him.

Dream pursed his lips in a small frown. Aleister had a very subtle way of being in a good mood. There was a lightness to his tone and a slight swagger in his walk. He had that air about him since making his admission to Dream. It didn’t reflect any personal feelings, or Dream didn’t think it did. He was no longer shouldering a burden he was unequipped to bear. It had nothing to do with getting rid of Dream--which he in fact had not done anyway, it could take them months to find a wild mage, if they ever did. Despite all that logic, it was hard not to feel bitter that Aleister seemed so happy Dream wouldn’t be his “problem” for much longer.

“Where did you drop us, anyway?” He grumbled, looking about once the rest of the world stopped spinning around him.

Before them was a city wall made of marble, framing a steel gate. There was a small grouping of guards, keeping an alert watch. Two of them already had their eyes on Aleister and Dream.

“We’re in Faethserin. This is Ashennore,” Aleister replied. “I was going to transport us directly to my place but,” he met Dream’s eyes, sidelong, “I thought you might like to see some of the city proper, first.”

Though slightly annoyed at him, Dream had to admit that was kind of sweet on Aleister’s part. He once told the other man that he rarely got out of Renaize. He was aware of Faethserin from a geographical standpoint, but that was it. Besides the unclaimed territory of the Wild, this was his first time out of the country.

“Don’t mind the guards,” Aleister spoke quietly as they headed forth. “I’m sure you’re aware of the coup from a few years back?”

“Of course.”

“They’re still trying to flush out loyalist stragglers. They’ll want to know we’re not affiliated with the empire.”

“...Maybe you should’ve just transported us inside.”

The soldiers regarded them with cold eyes.

“What’s your business here, gentlemen?”

“Coming home,” Aleister spoke briskly. “We live in the Rhun District.”

As he and the guards had their dialogue, Dream’s eyes wandered. They were a collection of different sorts of elves, mostly men. Then out of the corner of his eye, he saw her. She was sitting on the ground, covered up by her cloak, watching them intently with wide red eyes. She had a tail, ending in a scorpion-like hook, that peeked out from under the coppery fabric of her clothes, twitching back and forth. Based on the silhouette of her hood, she was hiding something more than just her braids under there. She had that same unnerving air Aleister gave off. Another tiefling. When she caught Dream’s eye, she smirked at him.

“We’re going to need to check those tattoos,” the guards sounded less wary when Dream turned his attention back to them.

“Check all you’d like, but you’ll be doing it for quite a while,” Aleister complied as he spoke, unbuttoning his shirt.

“He’s fine.”

All eyes turned to the tiefling woman, who hopped to her feet.

“He’s fine,” she repeated, swaggering closer. “I know him.” She turned from the head guard to Dream, “But I don’t know you.” Her eyes trailed down Dream’s body, stopping at his left hand. “That’s a nasty scar. Careful you don’t get another one.” She smiled a scary, fanged smile at him, then, with her eyes still locked on Dream’s, she told the guards in a light voice, “They can go.”

If Dream had less pride he might have shrunk away or hidden behind Aleister. Instead, he followed Aleister’s lead in half-bowing and thanking her. The gates opened.

“Who was that?” Dream asked in a hushed whisper once they were in.

“Oh, she’s a seer,” Aleister’s voice was dismissive. “They post them with guards to get a read on our intentions. If they sense you’re hostile, you may get turned away.”

“So she’s like you,” Dream confirmed. “Another tiefling diviner. Small world.”

“What’s that supposed to--” Aleister turned, and cut himself off.

Dream had slowed to a halt, trying to take everything in from his first look at the city. Granite buildings stretched up into the sky, lining immaculate brick-laden streets. The road they walked in on forked in three ways. To the left was a marketplace, full of carts and tents, each looking like they could pack up and leave at any moment, were it not so profitably busy. To the right looked like an entrance to a residential area. There was nothing terribly special about it, and it certainly wasn’t as crowded as the marketplace. He couldn’t tell what was straight ahead, beyond more unmarked buildings, though there was a sliver of what looked like an amphitheater in the distance.

His eyes trailed back to the market and its people. Everyone was so unique. There were races he had only seen in books and more that he could never have conjured. All the different shapes and sizes and genders and ages, it was a far cry from the all too human crowds of Renaize. And although it was starkly different from his country, looking at everyone, he felt like he had come home. Then, for some odd reason, he felt his eyes watering.

“Careful, those eyes of yours are about to pop out, princeling,” Aleister interrupted his thought train dryly.

“This is…the first time I’ve seen anything like this. All these different people.”

“Most of them don’t take well to being stared at,” Aleister touched his shoulder, gently turning Dream to face him. “We should get going.”

To Dream’s dismay, they took the road to the right, but not without making Aleister _promise_ to show him the rest of the city _soon_.

“So this is the so-called “Rhun District”?” Dream asked with a hint of amusement.

“Well, it’s close to it.”

Aleister’s house, this time, was a library; a definite improvement from a tree.

“I travel quite frequently,” he was explaining as he led Dream to a tower at the back of the building. “In most places, I’ll seek out temporary lodging, but this is one of three spots I consider the closest thing to home.”

“What’s the third?” Dream tentatively took a step up the tower’s stairs.

He paused. “There was a temple in the Maiddosa Highlands once.”

No more information on that was offered. Dream rolled his eyes. Aleister’s dedication to being an enigma struck as usual.

“And do you have twenty cats in each of your locations?” He sidestepped a black furball curled up on the top step.

Aleister squatted down, scratching the cat under the chin, “No, I just feed the strays.” He had a very slight smile on his face and was using that vaguely singsong tone that he only spoke to cats with.

“So no cat hair on the furniture this time?” Dream put a hand on his hip, trying to quell his annoyance as Aleister sat down.

“If they follow me in I don’t stop them,” he lifted the cat up, nuzzling its nose. “No, I don’t, do I?” He chuckled softly when the cat bumped his bearded chin affectionately.

Dream came to terms with the fact that he was never going to understand pet owners.

His impatient body language finally got Aleister to his feet to unlock the door.

The lodgings behind the door were a little alarming. On one hand, it looked a lot more lived-in and felt less like the arid, empty atmosphere of the yew tree. On the other hand, it was one large bedroom with a loft, and that was _it_. It was as if Aleister had taken his workshop and put in a bed and some dressers. It wasn’t big enough for two people to peacefully coexist in for a week, never mind six months.

“This is…cozy,” Dream commented generously, surveying the room.

“Not afraid of heights, are you?”

“No?”

Aleister pointed at the ladder to the loft, answering Dream’s unspoken question of where exactly he was supposed to sleep.

“Kitchen’s down here,” he tapped on a wooden hatch door with one foot. “And there’s a washroom on the ground floor, but you’ll have to take the stairs down.”

The layout was just about as much travel between rooms as the yew tree had been, but with less space per room. Dream silently considered springing for an inn. It was unlikely Aleister would take any offense, he didn’t seem to care that much. The real question was affording it with what little pocket money Dream brought with him. As much as he enjoyed the finer things in life, when he was packing to leave the castle, he wasn’t looking to get robbed. Nor was he looking for an extended stay anywhere, to begin with.

“I need you to promise me something,” Aleister spoke as he hung his jacket on the wall, glancing over his shoulder. “This city can be…distracting. Promise me you’ll stay focused. Don’t make me regret bringing you here.”

“Me?” Dream put on an offended look. “I would never.” Dropping the sarcasm, he informed the other man, “The longer I mess around, the longer it’ll take me to get back to my kingdom. You don’t need to motivate me with vague threats of disappointment.”

“Duly noted. Now then, let’s get you settled. We’re going to have a very busy day tomorrow.”


	8. Chapter 8

The next morning saw Dream in a dreadful mood. Before they left the forest, Aleister crafted a sleeping charm for him to ward off nightmares. It worked, but not in the traditional sense. He wasn’t having any nightmares because he wasn’t sleeping. Part of that may have been his body finally saying “I’ve had it” with sleeping on hardwood surfaces, but the insomnia lined up suspiciously well with the introduction of the charm. When he complained of it to Aleister, the man frowned, apologized, and said he would try to fix it. It was a reasonable reply, but it irritated Dream. _Everything_ was irritating him that day. He needed sleep, and realized it too late, when they had made their twenty-minute journey to the next district. There was no way he could get back to the tower on his own without getting lost. Aleister couldn’t be swayed for fear of “burning daylight.” So Dream tagged along after him, haggard and annoyed.

They entered a section of the city called the Alley. It was a collection of no-nonsense, business-aligned buildings, each dedicated towards a different craft or occupation. The mage’s guild was the first logical step towards finding a wild mage. The interior of the building bore more of a resemblance to a tavern than the formal outside gave off. Aleister headed straight for one of the counters and immediately began chatting up the man behind the desk in his straight shooter sort of way.

The longer Dream stood and watched him conduct business, the more it grated on his nerves. Aleister was so focused on the other person, it was like Dream wasn’t there at all. He should have been a part of the conversation. They were discussing his fate, after all. He had a right to know how things worked at the guild, and it bothered him to no end that he didn’t. It touched a sore spot deep inside of him.

Removing himself from the situation to cool off was all he could do, all he had control over. As he abruptly turned to leave, that caught Aleister’s attention.

“Dream--?”

“I’ll wait outside.”

He didn’t follow.

The second he stepped outside the building, he regained his sanity. Although he didn’t have any sort of outburst while inside, he immediately felt embarrassed for the internal tantrum building up. The sleep deprivation was getting to him.

He found a spot on the wall where he wouldn’t be in anyone’s way, nor would anyone take notice of him. Crossing his arms, he leaned on the brick surface, getting comfortable. Letting his head fall back, he closed his eyes-- not for long, he promised himself.

Something had to be done about his living arrangement. Once they fixed the sleeping charm issue, that was one huge roadblock out of the way, but he knew there was only so long he could be stuck in that tiny room with Aleister. He resolved to ask Aleister if the mage’s association offered any jobs he could handle, or any guild, really. He needed steady income, then he could rent his own room somewhere else. Nearby, of course, he wasn’t trying to avoid Aleister intentionally, but it would be better off that way.

His arm felt hot. When he looked down there was a hand of molten rock wrapped around his wrist.

_“Child of man--”_

Dream startled awake with a gasp. He was still on the wall, unnoticed and safe. That feeling of dread still surged through his veins. He was reminded of the impending doom he felt in the moment when he looked into Belial’s eyes and knew he was going to die. In that moment he was asked to reconcile the way his life played out, and he was unable to do so. He wasn’t ready to die.

He took a few shaky steps away from the wall, not wanting to risk dozing off again. If he kept moving, he could shake off that uneasy grogginess.

Then someone jumped him from behind. He let out a strangled scream as two little arms wrapped around his neck, and two legs around his midsection.

“Get off, get off, _get off!”_

“Did you come to play with Aleister?” A lilting voice giggled in his ear.

In lieu of an answer, Dream tried to pry the greenish limbs off his body, thrashing fruitlessly.

_“Whee!”_

“Oh, gods, Nikki, get off him!”

A little blonde human, or maybe she was a gnome based on the stature, hurried up to him. With no help from Dream, she untangled the other person clinging to his back like a bad habit. Apologizing profusely, the blonde pulled her companion, a half-orc who was cackling like a madwoman, a few steps back.

“I like your tattoo, mister!”

It was cold. Dream was wearing long sleeves. She wasn’t talking about his brand.

He instinctively slapped a hand over the back of his neck, snapping back, “It’s not a tattoo.”

“Nikki, leave him be,” the blonde urged, tugging on her arm.

“I just wanted to play.”

“We have to go,” she gave Dream a very forced smile.

“Bye Aleister’s friend! Bye Aleister!”

As the women disappeared, Dream looked over his shoulder to see Aleister had emerged from the guild building and was giving Nikki a puzzled wave in return.

“You alright?”

Ruffled, Dream muttered back as he fixed his hair, “You’re certainly popular with the women in this town.”

“No. Not really.” The confused expression was stuck on Aleister’s face, but he moved on, “No luck on the wild mage. I left a bulletin with as little detail as possible. No use in drawing attention to your identity.” He curiously eyed Dream’s neck, “No matter how the guards vet newcomers, there would be no shortage of villainous intent were your pedigree to be known.”

“No one is going to ransom me, I promise,” Dream grumbled, adding “crestfallen” onto the list of unpleasant emotions piling inside him. “Can you please take me back to the tower now? I really, really need to sleep.”

“Not yet. We have one more stop to make.”

“Aleister, please,” he pleaded.

His tone of voice struck a chord with Aleister. Despite the sympathy in his eyes, he didn’t budge. Instead, he promised the last stop would not only be quick but extremely to Dream’s benefit.

There was a rare form of iron, found only in fallen meteorites, that was said to have anti-magic properties. When magic manifested in children before they could cognitively control it, it was a common practice to fit them with bracelets made of it as a preventative measure. Dream balked at being compared to a child but agreed to try it. Aleister reassured him that it would only hamper his abilities, not cut them off. As an adult, he was more in tune with his spirit. He should still be able to access his magic even with that guard up. It was to stop accidents, not prevent magic use altogether.

His first step into the little arcane shop and Dream felt nauseous. He was unable to shake off the compounded anxiety attacks he had outside of the guild. The cluttered, disorganized nature of the shop was actively making it worse. Dream kept checking over his shoulder to make sure the exit was in sight.

To Aleister’s credit, he sensed Dream’s discomfort, but when he touched Dream’s shoulder in an attempt to rouse him, he was verbally bitten back at. He didn’t get angry in return, or have any emotional response, really, and that only served to bother Dream further. How could he stay so calm when everything was so close and so loud and so dark?

But then, instead of giving up and letting Dream sulk, Aleister continued speaking to him in gentle tones. He wasn’t saying anything important, but doing so to keep Dream attentive and talking as they looked over the tiny little selection of meteoric iron accessories. Dream was still uneasy, but it was starting to work. He even found it in himself to comment that the Dream would not be caught dead in the iron bracelets that were a hairsbreadth away from being shackles. Aleister gave him a vexed look, but with no real venom behind it.

Then Dream smelled it. Someone in the shop was lighting incense. That wasn’t what registered in his brain. What he smelled was a fire.

“Listen, I can’t-- I don’t care,” Dream spoke hurriedly, covering his nose and mouth as he felt bile rise. “Pick something. I have to go.”

Not waiting for a response, he maneuvered his way out of the shop. The crowds in the street dwindled as it got closer to nightfall and shops began closing, but it was still too many people for him to handle. That had never been an issue. He loved crowds.

Somehow he wandered into a back alley, and dropped into a sitting position, hunched against the wall. His heart was going to explode in his chest. It felt like his lungs had been punctured. No matter how deep a breath he took, they wouldn’t stay full. His eyes hurt. He was so damn tired.

Nearby, a stray cat rustled around in a pile of leaves.

Then it clicked in Dream’s head.

He assumed Aleister’s meditative position. Trying to hold his shaking hands together, fingertips touching, he began counting breaths. He didn’t dare close his eyes yet, staying focused on the marbled pattern in the stone wall across from him. The disjointed parts of his body started to fall back in sync with each other. His head still throbbed and his joints all ached, but he could breathe.

Aleister found him but said nothing. He sat across from Dream, mirroring him. He didn’t join him in meditation (or whatever it was Dream was doing) but waited patiently.

“Sorry about all that,” Dream took the initiative to speak first, lowering his hands. “I think I’m coming down with something.”

Aleister’s eyes said he didn’t believe him at all, but he nodded nonetheless.

“What’s that?” Dream nodded towards the bag in Aleister’s lap.

Reaching in, Aleister pulled out a gold three-layered necklace, leaving it hanging off his fingers. Drops of amethyst dangled from the longer chain. A translucent green mist lingered around it. That was the first time Dream had seen anyone’s magic that wasn’t his own or Aleister’s. It wasn’t quite as beautiful or striking, but it had its own charm to it.

“It’s not real gold,” Aleister warned him. “It’s meteoric iron, magically painted and sealed. The amethysts are real, I believe.”

“...I like it.”

“Good.” Aleister shifted onto his knees, edging closer to fasten it around Dream’s neck. “This may cure that “something” you’re coming down with. And with a higher shirt collar, it’ll help obscure,” he blindly tapped the back of Dream’s neck, “this.”

Dream touched the longest chain daintily. Once again, Aleister coming in clutch with better taste than his all-black wardrobe suggested.

“And if it doesn’t help with your “something” problem,” Aleister drew lines across Dream’s forehead.

The warmth of his magic blossomed across Dream’s face. Finally, his emotional turmoil came to a standstill. He was tired and his head felt fuzzy, but he was calm.

“Magic can all too easily become tangled with your emotions,” Aleister explained. “When you’re already dealing with external stressors, it acts as tinder. You’ve experienced the rest.” With a slight, curious shift to his tone, he continued, “Consider the necklace a gift, but if you would like to repay me, I’m very curious about that tattoo.”

Dream absently rubbed at the back of his neck, fingers entwining with the chain, “I don’t have any tattoos. Just a scar and a birthmark.”

Nonetheless, he shifted his position and pulled his collar and necklace aside to let him take a look.

“A thirteen pointed star?” Aleister sounded reasonably skeptical as he confirmed what it was.

“All Cineian royalty are born with it,” Dream clarified. “The points stand for all the members of the pantheon. Scholars can’t seem to decide whether it means we carry their blessing, or if we’re somehow their descendants.”

“And which do you think?”

“Well the latter sounds like nepotism, which I suppose is the nature of all nobility,” Dream replied wryly, reveling in the amused exhalation he felt across his nape. “Not to mention, it’s biologically impossible.” He twisted his torso back into a normal sitting position, now looking at Aleister face to face, “I guess I’ll take the blessing. Oh and,” his voice lowered, losing its flippancy, “thank you. For this.” He touched the necklace again.

“Think nothing of it. Let’s get you back to the tower.”

Aleister held a hand out to help him up. Dream felt a bit of warmth in his cheeks as he took it, and wondered if there was another spell being cast on him.


	9. Chapter 9

With a few adjustments made to the sleeping charm, Dream was out the whole night. Aleister might have done too good a job, as Dream, who usually rose with the sun, had to be manually woken up.

“Why didn’t you wake me earlier?” Dream grumbled, the grogginess weighing him down.

Aleister replied knowingly, “You needed the rest.”

While he was right, Dream still felt a little embarrassed that he had missed such a huge chunk of the day, especially on the day he was supposed to begin training in earnest. Aleister was unperturbed, able to put the first half of the day to good use anyway.

The library they were staying by was part of the academic region of the city. The region was split in two, one half for those training to become knights, and the other for aspiring mages. While Dream wasn’t able to commit to the six-year program of the mage’s academy, Aleister pulled some strings to allow the two of them to tap into the academy’s resources. Plus, if the guild didn’t end up finding them a wild mage, there was a very slight chance they could catch one of the academy’s professors on their downtime. Aleister warned Dream not to put too much stock in that, considering the workloads of both teachers and students in the academy. They had a shot, a very slim one. Until anything changed, they committed to a loose regiment, splitting time up between the library and, on off-hours, practice fields and workshops.

The library was truly magnificent, four floors in total, complete with balconies and winding staircases. Each floor had its own set of private study rooms, which on that day were booked solid. The entire library was crawling with stressed-out students.

“The year is winding down,” Aleister commented as they strolled out of the building. “The good news is that there will be a month-long holiday once exams are done. This whole area empties out around that time. The bad news is the next two weeks most of the campus will be in disarray.” A few feet out the door he slowed to a stop, “In the meantime, we can try some small practical applications of what you learned. Small,” he repeated with emphasis. Glancing at Dream, he took a long pause, then added, “I think the cold air will do you some good.”

“What exactly is that supposed to mean?”

“You’ve been fading in and out all afternoon.” Without warning, he brushed the backs of his index and middle finger across Dream’s cheek, right under his eye, “You seem rested, but your eyes are foggy.”

Dream twitched away from his hand, “Don’t do that.”

“My apologies.”

As annoying as it was to admit, Aleister was right. Dream’s head felt fuzzy all day. He grew frustrated at how sluggishly he was moving and thinking.

“It has to be that damn sleeping charm.”

“I don’t think so,” Aleister’s eyes dropped to Dream’s neck. “It’s that.”

Dream’s hand wandered to his collarbone, fingertips brushing the necklace, “This?”

He nodded, “It’s possible it’s having an adverse effect on your psyche. How do you feel?”

“I…” Dream frowned. “I don’t really feel anything.” He let his hand drop, “…Is it always going to feel like this?”

“I don’t know. It’s likely just your body adapting to the changes.”

“But it might not be. It could be permanent.”

“Yes, it could.”

“...Am I going to have to wear this forever?”

Surprising Dream, a pained look crossed Aleister’s face, “It’s possible. This could be as good as it gets.”

Dream didn’t like the empty feeling. What’s worse, he didn’t notice it until Aleister asked him. It was becoming normal to him.

As it turned out, that state of mind was useless for casting anything. After a few frustrating tries in the practice field, Aleister diplomatically called it a day on his behalf. Then he suggested there may be a way Dream could get back in touch with himself. Dream rolled his eyes with a huff, but sat down and assumed the position anyway.

When he closed his eyes he saw that ashen energy that made up Aleister Black. For all that he associated smoke and fire with Belial, the smokiness of Aleister’s aura and the heat of his magic didn’t bother him. It didn’t burn as Belial did. It didn’t have that searing stench that permeated every orifice of his face, choking out what few shallow breaths he had in his chest. Aleister may have had a common heritage with devils like Belial, but he wasn’t charred and rotting.

As he sat, he came to the obvious realization that Aleister was doing a lot for him, and he didn’t have to. Frowning, he questioned himself, was he showing proper gratitude? He thought back to his private tutors, and how he would interact with them in his adolescence. It wasn’t the same. Those were clean, professional relationships. That wasn’t what he and Aleister were, though that was what he pictured when he began his journey. He assumed he was going to be under the learning tree of an ancient sage who spoke in verses. Aleister was older than him, sure, but not to the extreme he was anticipating. They were closer to peers than a student and teacher. That may have been what bothered Dream about him so much. They were of roughly the same generation, but Aleister was decades ahead of him in magic. There was no helping it, not when he sought Aleister out for that exact reason, but the inferiority complex he hid under layers of confidence festered when he was around him. At the same time, he admired Aleister and was sincerely honored that he aided him on his journey against his rational judgment. Not unlike healing magic, Aleister was reaching out, and Dream would more than willingly grab onto his offered hand.

None of that was really what he was supposed to be focusing on during meditation, but he was starting to feel better-- starting to feel _something_. Then he felt something else, light and cold, brushing his nose.

He opened his eyes and looked up. “Snow…?”

Aleister, already roused from his meditation, was also staring up at the sky. There was the faintest hint of a smile on his face as the snow melted on him, his high tiefling body temperature in full effect. Still, the crystals lingered in his hair and on his eyelashes. He closed his eyes again. It was like he hadn’t heard Dream at all. Normally that would bother the prince, but that rare touch of innocence on Aleister’s face was always a welcome sight. He let him bask for a while.

Glancing to the side, Dream noted the snow was starting to stick. Rubbing his arms to keep himself warm, he decided it was time for Aleister to pay attention to him again.

“Cold, are you?”

Aleister surprised him by speaking first. Dream would never get used to how unnervingly alert the mage was with his eyes closed.

“Ready to start our thirty-minute hike back to the tower whenever you are,” he replied.

Despite the reluctance with which he opened his eyes, Aleister didn’t have any intention to let Dream freeze. A familiar flash of light and they were sitting on the spell sigil in the tower.

“Better?”

Still shivering, Dream shot back, “If you recall, the Dream lent you his hands when you had that burn, so if you don’t mind?”

“You want,” Aleister was mystified, “my hands?”

Faltering, he lifted them.

Even the act of grabbing hold of them to pull them close was an instant relief to Dream’s chilled skin. It was weird, using Aleister’s hands like a detached object, but he was so _warm_. To his credit, he didn’t seem to mind after getting over the initial confusion of the request. He didn’t flinch when Dream put his hands on his face, rubbing up against them.

The warmth soaking into his skin, Dream let out a relieved noise, closing his eyes. He thought for a moment that Aleister’s fingers were moving, generating more heat with a gentle caress. Relaxing into the touch, Dream inhaled, unintentionally catching the scent of Aleister’s wrists. He smelled like cypress and cinnamon.


	10. Chapter 10

By the next morning, the light fall of snow turned into a blizzard. Dismayed, Dream tried to accept that it would delay them indefinitely and be fine with it. Looking on the positive side, the tower was well insulated, and his roommate was a walking heater if things got desperate.

Bundled up, Dream descended from the loft. The grogginess of the necklace was affecting him a little less. The side effects were still there, but he was learning how to manage it.

An odd scene waited for him in the main room. Aleister was already awake with a mug of the rosemary tea in hand. That was normal. He was leaned against the wall, right by the window, which had its curtains drawn back. Watching the snowfall, he was rapt, lips parted slightly. It wasn’t a smile, but he was happy. His tail swayed lazily, side to side. For the first time, Dream saw the way Aleister’s tail merged with his skin, flowing from his spine, because, well, he was shirtless. Not a bad view by any means, but odd. Whatever normal morning ritual he had that involved getting dressed must have been derailed by his snow fixation.

Dream’s eyes wandered, not shameless but curious. He had never seen the tattoos on Aleister’s chest or back. Looking at Aleister’s bare skin gave him the same feeling that looking at his grimoire did. Those tattoos were trying to tell him a story in a language he couldn’t understand, a story more intimate than he was prepared to know.

It felt equally rude to interrupt him as it did to sit and stare, so Dream opted to take a seat on the floor at the table, where his own mug of horrible tea was waiting. He had gotten used to the bitterness, but it didn’t mean he liked it. Psyching himself up for it, he blew on it lightly.

That slight sound managed to startle Aleister out of his blissful moment, turning on Dream with wide eyes. There was a redness to his cheeks as he set his mug down on the window sill.

“Sorry-- I-- hang on.”

“Oh, don’t stop on my account,” Dream said with an amused smirk.

Halfway to the curtain hung around his bed, Aleister stopped to give Dream that dead-eyed look, before ducking in. When he returned, the hints of blush were gone from his face and he was wearing a loosely fitted black tunic.

Retrieving his mug, he sat across from Dream at the table, stony-faced, and cleared his throat. “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” Dream replied, grinning widely over the rim of his mug. “You don’t have to stop, I was serious,” he nodded towards the window. “Go enjoy your snow.”

“No, it’s fine. I’ve already spent too much time on that.”

“You like it that much?”

With a short look over his shoulder at the window, Aleister explained, “I didn’t see much of it growing up.”

Dream waited for him to expound, but he didn’t. Typical.

With the weather the way it was, they were trapped indoors. Aleister still had a decent wealth of books and supplies in the tower. It wouldn’t derail them too badly. Dream wasn’t sure which direction the training was meant to go in anyway, but it seemed Aleister was ready to reveal that.

“I would like to discuss something that perhaps we should have covered earlier,” Aleister began, folding his hands and resting his chin on his thumbs. “You now understand the different branches and specializations in magic. No one person can be a master of each one, not even a wild mage. At this point in your training, it’s time to choose your path.” He studied Dream’s face in silence, then asked, “What precisely is it you want to use your magic for?”

That had been on Dream’s mind since day one. In everything Aleister had taught him, he was fascinated by illusions. Being able to create anything you put your mind too, yet assigning it a fleeting nature, it felt poetic. Beyond that, its theatrics held a great appeal to him. There was an artistry to every magic, he realized, but there was something special about illusions.

That artistry, the tendency towards glamour and flair, it didn’t line up with his story. It fit his personality, and Aleister knew that much, but there was a dissonance between who he was and what he wanted to accomplish.

It was fine, specializing in one kind of magic didn’t mean you couldn’t learn others. Aleister, for example, worked primarily in the all-seeing nature of divination but had a talent for mind-altering magic as well. As easily as he could read someone’s emotions, he could provoke them with a simple hand gesture.

If Dream started down one path, it wouldn’t prevent him from trying others. The vast potential awarded to wild magic made that even easier. Still, mastering one specialization would take time and put off attempting anything else. Time was the resource he was most in need of.

“I want to protect my people,” he finally replied. “Not the ones in the castle or even the capital. Country folk. The people we’re failing to protect.”

It wasn’t a lie. Both the crown and the church did a poor job of maintaining anyone underneath nobility. He knew that firsthand, and he did want to help fix it, deep down.

“And healing magic,” he said quietly. “To honor my mother.”

That was true.

“What does your father think of all this?”

Dream shook his head, “He doesn’t know about any of this.”

Aleister’s eyes had been narrowed in thought, but when Dream finished speaking, they opened fully, and his eyebrows went up. His folded hands dropped to the table in one swing, like an executioner’s ax. Then he leaned in, up on his elbows, head cocked.

“The king doesn’t know that his son, “the facilitator connecting the powers of the gods themselves to the royal family,” is interested in magic?”

A string of curse words ran through Dream’s head. How did Aleister remember those words so specifically? More importantly, why did _he_ use those words, to begin with?

“Of course he knows that he just,” he stammered, coming up blank.

“Oh, he doesn’t know why?” Aleister had an exaggerated look of innocence on his face.

Dream opened his mouth to reply, but nothing came out. He had gotten too comfortable. He forgot how much of his story was built on slanted truth. He slipped up.

His shoulders dropped, tension gone, and he opted to take a sip of tea with an annoyed glare instead of respond.

Aleister _laughed_. Not a real laugh with any cheer into it, more like a little snicker. A little _heh_ under his breath. That was scarier than if he yelled.

“I was wondering,” he relaxed, leaning back, “if you would ever tell me your true intentions, princeling.”

Dream lowered his mug, “You knew?” Then it hit him, and he shook his head, “No, of course you did.”

Lying to a mind reader wasn’t a well-laid plan.

“Oh, no, not how you’re thinking,” Aleister reassured him. “Not at first. Not by those means.” He studied Dream for a moment. “Highness, you are not what I would call a saint. Though you may go on to do what you claim, that is not what resides in your heart.”

“Why didn’t you look for your answer?” Dream folded his arms, then threw one hand up in a little gesture of defeat as he added, “I can’t stop you. Especially not with this,” he ran his fingers over the necklace.

“You may be a histrionic narcissist, but I do not think you are a bad person. I am less concerned about your motives and more curious.”

He just wanted Dream to squirm. Jerk. Dream bit back a relieved grin.

“You do not have to tell me.”

“I’m not going to tell you.”

Aleister looked disappointed, not a huge change, but slightly deflated by the quick response.

“Yet,” Dream added. “Maybe someday the Dream will decide you’ve earned it. But not today.”

Aleister accepted that with a vexed air. With all that out of the way, Dream felt lighter than ever. He hadn’t even realized anything was weighing him down. Once the snow let up, he would be able to begin practical training in earnest. He wouldn’t have to pick and choose for his noble princely persona. He was going to be an illusionist.


	11. Chapter 11

Purple smoke flowed into the room. The lighting dimmed. Hands thrown above his head, Dream spun slowly and deliberately through the door, letting the fog curl around his body before fading out, dissipating fully at his feet when he froze in place.

All too prepared for the theatrics, Aleister had a ball of light conjured in his hand so he could continue to read uninterrupted.

“You have been doing this for almost three weeks,” he commented, eyes still on the pages. “And you’ve yet to grow tired of it?”

Pursing his lips with the flick of his wrist, Dream sent another billow of smoke up over the desk. Aleister dropped his quill and looked up at him with his signature frown. Dream smiled back with a little wave of his fingers, making the smoke disappear.

“The Dream does not want to hear that from you,” he gracefully dropped into his chair. “You do _not_ need to show off your aura that much when you cast. That’s a choice. I’ve been doing my reading.” Smug smile fading, he got down to business, “We had a date. Northern practice field, thirty minutes ago. That book better be damn important.”

Aleister looked over his shoulder at the window. He made a small grunt of affirmation, realizing how low the sun was in the sky.

“It is extremely important,” he assured Dream. “This,” he carefully laid a hand on his notes, “is a breakthrough.”

Dream considered forgiving him.

Over the past two months they had spent in Ashennore, in addition to training, Dream had picked up a job at the guild. It was mainly running errands or minor clerical work, nothing of magical nature, but it was money nonetheless. He wasn’t keen on being a financial burden on Aleister in addition to everything else. He didn’t bother renting an inn room. Aleister was easy to live with. He was so quiet, it was easy to forget he was even there. Dream seldom did, though.

When he wasn’t working with Dream, Aleister was dedicating his time to researching the pact. Beyond any history books in the library, there were plenty of warlocks coming through the guild he could gather information from.

Even with all that, it was slow going. No two pacts were the same, even if they were made by the same devil.

Aleister gestured for Dream’s arm.

Circling the mark with his finger, he spoke, “This brand says Belial in Abyssal. I know that for certain. But this,” he flipped a page in his book and then turned it around for Dream to see, “is the mark of Belial.”

Dream looked back and forth between the two. The differences were glaring. His mark was blatantly missing ridges and circles.

He swallowed, a feeling of fear creeping in, “What does that mean?”

“The creature you described when you told me of your pact doesn’t match up with any forms Belial is known to take. It’s very likely you made a pact with one of his minions.” Half-smiling, he said, “This is very good news.”

Pulling back and crossing his arms on the table, Dream squinted at him, “And why is that?”

Leaning away, toying with his quill between his fingers, Aleister responded, “Belial is an archdevil. A middling powerful one at best, but an archdevil nonetheless. As mortals, we have no means to kill an archdevil, nor do we have magic powerful enough to even inconvenience them.” The quill stopped with an emphatic point, “But a lowly fiend has plenty of workarounds. They can die. They can be trapped. They can be tortured.”

Dream recoiled at that last part, “Please enlighten the Dream on your plan that does not involve torturing anything.”

Aleister gave him that joyless halfway smirk, “If you know the true name of a devil, a new world of possibilities will open to you. There are ways we can leverage that name to reverse the contract. You might even get your name back.”

Dream’s name was the least of his worries. When he had the time to spare, and with Aleister’s permission, he looked through Aleister’s notes and other records of demonic contracts, just for the sake of knowing. Though none of them were identical to his own, there were similar threads connecting them. Trading one’s soul for a wealth of magic was a tale as old as time. He found cases of names being traded for power, but none of names being outright erased. The one same trend among all the stories was the fate of the soul after death.

When a warlock passed on, they were not given judgment from whatever deity they pledged their faith to. No holy fairness from above granted them mercy. The good and evil of their life’s work amounted to nothing. The fiend who wrote their contract had full control of their afterlife. The more powerful mages, or simply favorites of the devil, could be turned into fiends themselves. A more common fate was to be dragged down to the devil’s particular pit of hell and be tortured for however long their patron saw fit. None of that appealed to Dream.

“What do I have to do?”

“For now we are going to derail your training in illusions and welcome you into my wheelhouse.” He folded his hands under his chin, “I am going to teach you about scrying.”

There were so many reasons for Dream to refuse that offer. Scrying spells were complex and difficult. He didn’t doubt he could do it, but wild magic turned out to have unexpected drawbacks.

With his limiter on, he was fine to cast smaller spells with no trouble. Most of the illusions he worked in didn’t require large amounts of magical energy. It was so easy, he was starting to get bored. He wanted to try more ambitious, permanent magic. He wanted to try summoning spells. Aleister was reluctant to agree, but acknowledged his progress and made an exception. Conjuring objects and images were similar in nature, he reasoned. It wouldn’t be an alien step to take.

They sat in one of the practice fields, all too optimistic. Aleister would list off random organic items and Dream would call them into being. They started with small things, a single leaf, a patch of moss, mushrooms. The requests gradually became more difficult, and it was clear Dream needed to take off the limiter. Aleister very firmly told him to put it back on if anything started feeling strange, and Dream agreed, thinking nothing of it.

The next day’s series of spells was going to start off simple once again, conjuring bricks. Identical bricks, but bricks nonetheless. The first two came easily and made Dream wonder if he still needed the necklace for anything. Then after the third spell, he started getting dizzy. The fourth, nauseous, and the brick had an unnatural slope that the others lacked. He blacked out mid-summoning the fifth brick which, according to Aleister, was a lightning bolt. He hit the practice field with a lightning bolt.

They were emphatically asked to refrain from further conjuration lessons at the academy.

Casting a spell as complex as scrying meant risking more unpleasant surges of random uncontrolled power. That was if the spell failed. If the spell succeeded, he would have to see that demon again. No charm in the universe would stop the nightmares from coming back. He wasn’t ready.

Dream found his tongue as Aleister was beginning to look concerned, “How is scrying supposed to help anything?”

“I need you to show it to me. The demon. That’s all you have to do.” He already picked up on the source of Dream’s apprehension. “It doesn’t have to be for very long. If I can just…see it, experience it, I can scry it on my own and,” he lowered his hands, unfolding them but leaving his fingertips touching, “I will…experiment with it.”

“What happened to the no torture clause?”

“I’m not going to torture it. I just,” he trailed off, eyes darting away in reluctance. “I don’t know,” he closed his eyes, then looked back to Dream, “I don’t know any perfect method to get its name. I have ideas. Many of them.” He paused, expression softening, “I don’t want to involve you any further than I must. You would either have to hold the spell for a very long time or cast it over and over again. It isn’t safe and…if I were you, I wouldn’t be ready to face that thing again. Not yet.”

Taken aback, Dream said nothing. That was an uncharacteristically vulnerable admission on Aleister’s part. It wasn’t much but it was the closest to a sign of weakness Dream had gotten out of him yet. A smile spread on his face.

“Thanks, Black.”

He didn’t have to say anymore.

* * *

A few nights later, as they walked back from the Academy, Dream was still thinking about that gentle look on Aleister’s face. It was so subtle he could have missed it if he were paying less attention. In fact, he had seen a more compassionate look on Aleister’s face before (with his cats). Still, he couldn’t get it off his mind.

He stretched his arms over his head, stiff from being cooped up in the library all day. The timing felt right.

“Aleister Black,” he spoke the name with great deliberation.

Aleister, a few steps ahead, stopped and glanced at him.

“You want to know why it is the Dream does what he does. What it was that set him on this rigorous journey. What _drives_ the Dream.”

Turning on his heel, Aleister faced Dream, tilting an ear forward. Dream grinned. He loved it when he had Aleister’s full attention.

“I’m the youngest of my brothers,” he explained, pacing aimlessly. “By a lot,” he lied. “My mother had me much later in her life than one would expect. You might even call me a miracle child.”

Aleister rolled his eyes, but he was listening.

“When I was born,” he continued, “the kingdom’s plans were all laid out properly. They didn’t expect an eighth child. They didn’t really want an eighth child.” Admitting that out loud stung. “They had everything covered. Lands and responsibilities divided up. Regardless, when I was of age I was welcomed into the council meetings. It was a round table event, made up of blood relatives and the king’s closest advisers only. Very exclusive.” He made an annoyed face, adding, “But the Dream was never quite…accepted. They made room for me, but there wasn’t a place for me.”

That soft look that felt like a smile, but really wasn’t, appeared on Aleister’s face. It was a look of understanding. He sympathized.

“But the thing about me, that I’m sure you’re well aware of by now, is I’m just too talented for my own good,” he said with a shrug and a grin. “I made sure whatever my brothers could do, I could do it just as well, if not better.” His smirk wore off, “But I still didn’t measure up in their eyes.” He slowed to a halt, “And you know what I did about it. Because if they couldn’t admit that I was better at what they did, I was going to do something they couldn’t.”

“Magic.”

“Magic.” Another light smile and shrug, “That’s it. That’s my big motivation.”

Aleister made a soft noise of affirmation. Mulling things over, he looked away, up to the sky.

“Pride. Ego.” He spoke, not looking at Dream. “You wanted to make a name for yourself.” He nodded, “Comparatively selfish to your original story.”

Dream bit his lip. Maybe he misread Aleister’s behavior. He was under the impression they were something nearing the friend category, but this stony response didn’t bode well. At least he had enough of a grasp on magic that he could go back home if Aleister was going to kick him out. He wasn’t where he wanted to be, but he was farther than where he started.

“I find that compelling,” he finally looked at Dream. “More so than your tale of greater good and nobility.” A half-smile. “Perhaps that speaks ill of me, as well.” Before Dream could ask him to elaborate, he shifted gears, “I understand your why, but that doesn’t explain what you want to do with magic once you’ve mastered it.”

“Honestly, I hadn’t thought that far ahead,” he confessed with a weak laugh. “But all this talk of greater good may have inspired me a bit. I’m starting to think Cineia may be in need of a bit of…reform.”

Aleister arched a brow at him, “Are you suggesting some sort of revolution?”

Dream leaned in with a little wink, “Does that turn you on, Black?”

“Oh…no, don’t start deflecting now,” Aleister didn’t flinch away. “What are you plotting?”

“Nothing specific,” Dream assured him. “Nothing violent. I just think it’s time the chapter of the old guard came to a close.” One hand at his hip, he added, “They can’t ignore me forever. Not with what I can do now.”

“You’ll leverage your power…and for what?”

“The pantheon officials could use some,” he said with a little smile, “enlightening.”

Aleister shook his head, “They’ll crucify you, prince or not.”

“Do you have a better idea?”

Squinting up at the sky, Aleister fell silent.

“You want to protect the common people of your land,” he reiterated. “What if they were able to protect themselves?”

Dream understood right away, “You think they should know the truth about magic.”

“It does a disservice to the would-be mages to not know. Don’t you agree?”

“I do.”

“There’s your revolution.”

“...Maybe.”

Nothing was ever that simple.

Aleister lowered his head. He scuffed his boot against the ground, then turned as if to keep walking. But he hesitated and looked back again. He stared at Dream for a while, lips parted as if about to speak. Dream stared right back at him, waiting it out.

“Velveteen Dream, there is more to you than I thought,” he spoke up. “Much more. Each day I have gotten to know and understand you better has been a day I’ve felt as though I owe you an apology.”

That was touching. It was gratifying, too. He liked getting that absolute attention from Aleister, but he liked subverting his expectations so much more.

“The Dream only accepts apologies in material goods and sexual favors.”

That got a laugh out of Aleister, a short, genuine, surprised laugh.

“I don’t think I’m that sorry.” Traces of a smile clung to his face, “But I am sorry. I should have known better than to judge you, I’m honestly appalled at myself for it.”

“No need to kick yourself. I’m a complex human being. Not everyone knows how to properly experience the Dream.” He smiled in return, “But I think you’re getting the hang of it.”

The two stood in comfortable silence. It was getting late and they needed to get back to the tower, but the night sky was so clear and bright. Aleister couldn’t keep his eyes off the stars, the same rapt look on his face as the one when it snowed. Dream tried to pretend like he was doing the same, but what he couldn’t keep his eyes off of was Aleister. The moonlight hit him perfectly, illuminating his striking profile, casting an ethereal glow across his face. His eyes glittered in the dark as if capturing the stars he was so enamored with.

_Oh, no._

Aleister caught Dream looking at him out of the corner of his eye. He didn’t say anything as he turned his gaze on the prince. His mouth wasn’t smiling, but his eyes were. He quietly pointed out that they should go, but Dream was only half-listening.

As the other man turned to walk away, expecting him to follow, Dream swallowed hard, frozen in place with his realization. Being Aleister’s friend wasn’t enough.


	12. Chapter 12

The unsettling realization that Dream’s harmless flirting with Aleister was rooted in something less harmless hung over him like a storm cloud. After months of restful bliss whenever he laid down, he was kept up thinking about him.

Aleister wasn’t even that likable. He was distant and sullen and…

With an annoyed sigh, Dream thumped his head against his pillow hard enough to feel the floor. He couldn’t come up with a legitimate list of reasons not to like him.

Aleister _was_ distant, at first, but he warmed up to Dream. Even before that adjustment period, he was genuinely kind, in his own prickly way. Dream’s hand wandered to his chest, touching the drops of amethyst on his chain. Aleister still wouldn’t tell him how much it had cost. For someone who had zero obligation to do so, he took remarkably good care of Dream from the start. Logically, once he realized Dream was a wild mage, he should have quit, for his own safety, but he kept going. He stuck it out, out of a sense of duty, and they made progress.

That sense of duty surprised Dream. The shaman he spoke to in Renaize lauded Aleister as a champion of the downtrodden, but when they met he was a complete recluse. Aleister claimed he had a “sabbatical” on humans, but it was more than that. When asked, he wouldn’t say how long he was holed up in the Wild until Dream showed up. When Dream continued to pester him, trying to at least find out why he had shut himself off, Aleister gave him a significant look, and said he was waiting.

_“Waiting for what?”_

_“The right reason to leave.”_

At the time, Dream, of course, teased him at the romantic-sounding nature of the response. That ribbing hit him like a boomerang. He turned onto his side almost violently.

Sullen was too harsh of a word. Aleister was a sober-minded person who did his damnedest to keep to himself. He was oddly resistant to being known, and it came off as ill-tempered. Dream knew better. He connected with Aleister, little by little. He found ways to keep him talking, expressions that softened him up, words that made him open his heart. Underneath all that moody armor was a complexity that entranced Dream, and the more he unraveled, the further he wanted to understand.

Aleister Black fascinated him.

When he rolled over in bed with annoyed vigor the next time, he banged his knee against the wall.

_“Ow!”_ He covered his mouth.

There was a sudden shifting of blankets beneath him. If Aleister was asleep, Dream startled him awake.

“Dream?” His voice was heavy with sleep.

Dream stayed silent. No good could come of being face to face with Aleister in the dark of the night, moments after he had been swooning over him. The moonlight streaming through the curtains would be too much. He let Aleister think he was dreaming.

* * *

The next morning, Aleister looked tired. Dream didn’t doubt he looked worse. From the core of his being, he knew it was going to be a bad day. His head was fuzzy from sleep deprivation, and that was no position to be working with magic in. He let Aleister know and, though Aleister responded with irritation, he agreed Dream was right. His churlishness in light of a rational request told Dream that Aleister wasn’t in a good place to be training him either, but he kept that to himself, lest he provoke further anger.

They weren’t going to train, but, loathe to waste time, they would still work. The scrying spell Aleister planned to teach Dream required several ingredients they didn’t have. Between the two of them, there were plans for a lot of scrying for the next week or so, plus all of the different spell experiments that Aleister was largely keeping to himself. When Dream tried to ask, he was met with stubborn resistance.

“Explaining myself would be a waste of my time,” he responded, surly. “Worry about yourself before prying into my business.”

Alright. Aleister _was_ distant and sullen, and Dream fell for him anyway.

The experiment was everything but Aleister’s private business, but Dream didn’t bother arguing, as much as his gut instinct told him to. Aleister was in no mood to be tussled with. Surely he knew the truth and would explain the experiment to Dream someday, but not in the mindset he woke up in.

He had never seen Aleister like that. It was beyond the gloomy demeanor his stoicism would sometimes slip into. Something was bothering him.

As they weaved their way through the bazaar to the arcane shop, he was dead silent. It wasn’t his usual silence, with its air of calm. It was like a dormant volcano. He stiffened whenever another person drew near, and each time it happened, Dream saw the tenseness in his shoulders building.

“Aleister.”

“What?” He snapped.

“Tell me what I can do to make this easier on you.”

The glare on his face melted into a surprised, guilty look. He looked away. His brows drew together again in frustration.

“There’s nothing.”

They continued shopping in their usual malevolent-free silence.

Dream tried to hide his worried glances at Aleister as they walked back, but every time he looked his way, Aleister looked back at him. He felt Dream’s eyes on him.

As a general rule, Dream was a physical person. He showed a lot of physical affection without any real intent behind it, in the same way he benignly flirted. He had a warm, affectionate childhood, and even when that changed in his adolescence, he still craved that platonic physicality. If anything, he felt starved for it, and so he pursued it further. Aleister was different. Dream didn’t know much of his upbringing, but whatever circumstances he lived under, they made him reserved. He wasn’t against touching, but he did so sparingly, and rarely beyond a brush of his fingers. His touch was one kept at arm’s length. Yet, it never seemed to bother him when Dream got teasingly close. Rather, he never reacted one way or another. Dream gradually eased out of physical provocation, as it neither garnered the reaction he wanted nor did it improve his relationship with Aleister. Yes, he wanted to play around with the man a little bit, but he didn’t want to push him to the point of alienation. So he stopped. He put it out of his mind. He didn’t touch Aleister.

Now, with the combined forces of realizing his feelings for the other man and seeing the forlorn expression on his face, the urge returned. It wasn’t sexual, for the most part. It was a desire to comfort. He didn’t think Aleister would put up with that. He held off, wistfully.

Aleister was muttering to himself about stopping at the guild next, and then the academy, and then--

“No,” Dream cut him off. “You are going to take all these bags and go home.”

Maybe he couldn’t physically comfort Aleister, but he could force a little self-care on him.

“But--”

Dream stopped him with a swift wave of a hand, “I am a grown man, I can go check a mailbox by myself. What do you need from the academy?”

“I don’t--”

Dream clapped his hands once, cutting him off, “What. Do. You. Need.”

Dream had never seen Aleister look sheepish before, but there he was, trying to avoid eye contact.

“It’s a, a history book. About geas writing. It’s by a drow scholar by the name of, um,” he frowned, thinking.

Dream waved him away, “Drow geas book. Got it. Go home. Go to sleep. Meditate. Hold one of the nasty little furballs, I don’t care. Just be in a better mood when I get back. The Dream cannot take your vibes right now.”

Looking skyward, Aleister’s mouth pressed into a firm line that Dream read as a repressed smile.

“...Thank you, Dream.”

“Why are you still here?”

Giving Dream a deliberate look, Aleister backed away, then turned in the direction of the tower. Dream twiddled his fingers at him in a condescending wave goodbye.

Aside from sending Aleister back home being the right thing to do, it would greatly benefit Dream to spend less time with him. That would be no easy task, living together, so he was taking any chance he got.

Thinking about that pained him, and he grimaced as he approached the guild. He enjoyed spending time with Aleister. When they weren’t working, they sat and talked for hours. Well-traveled and cultured, Aleister had a wealth of information Dream wanted to pick his brain for. He had seen so much that it made Dream jealous, but even his inferiority complex couldn’t hold back his curiosity. If he were to commit to taking on any form of political role in his kingdom, Dream would be wiping out any chances of being able to see the rest of the world freely. Aleister’s stories might be the only source of unbiased information that he would have in a long time. Sure, there would be ambassadors and cross-cultural celebrations, but it wasn’t the same. It would be filtered. Aleister had no agenda. He spoke with his heart.

As Dream expected, the guild had nothing for them. He didn’t know why Aleister bothered checking. He would be fine if a wild mage never showed. He was improving every day, and surely those improvements would eventually give him control over the surges. That’s what he kept hoping.

He wandered through the library in the direction the librarian sent him for the book, overwhelmed with a sense of melancholy. He wanted to be with Aleister. On so many levels it was a mistake, but each time he reasoned that to himself, the yearning in his heart grew worse.

The best thing for them both was for Dream to act like nothing changed, and, when the time came, break ties. If he leaned too hard into avoidance, Aleister would know something was up. It was a wonder in itself that he didn’t already know. Some truth-seeker he was.

Dream trailed his fingers across the row of book spines, looking for his title.

Aleister stopped using thought detection spells on Dream a while ago. He wanted to trust that Dream would tell him the truth when it mattered. Dream’s stupid crush wasn’t one of those truths.

His fingertips stopped on a jarring empty space on the shelf. He heard a giggle coming from around the corner.

That half-orc girl was standing at the end of the row, peeking around the shelf to watch Dream. She seemed to overestimate how well she was hidden. When he made eye contact with her, she pulled a book over her face, her giddy laugh becoming maniacal. Dream had zero interest in engaging until he saw the cover of the book she was hiding behind. As he marched her way, she slid off and disappeared.

_Oh, no you don’t!_ He stopped himself from shouting, remembering where he was.

Turning the corner, he saw her dart away behind another bookshelf. It was a miserable game of hide and seek that never seemed to stop. She weaved her way around the library, ducking behind shelves and chairs, and every time Dream caught up, she bolted to find a new hiding place. It could be worse, he reasoned bitterly with himself. She only had the confines of the library to move about.

Peering behind a desk earned him an odd look from a librarian. Before he could defend himself, he heard the creaking of a door. Dismay clouded over him as he turned and saw the little menace waving at him.

“Over here!” She flashed him her nigh demonic smile before vanishing behind the closing door.

Dream scrambled after her in vain. She was gone without a trace.

He cursed under his breath, trying his hardest to keep his composure. Blowing up wouldn’t solve anything. He had to think, and do it fast, but not too fast or he would skip over his solution. Swallowing a frustrated groan, he crossed his arms and paced.

_What would Aleister do?_

At first, it wasn’t a useful thought. Obviously Aleister wouldn’t have been in the situation in the first place. But if he was…

Dream couldn’t do anything as advanced as scry, yet. He tangentially knew spells that might help, but nothing he ever practiced. He wasn’t in a life or death matter, it was just a book, and Nikki seemed innocuous, if not a little chaotic. They could get it back eventually, it wasn’t worth risking anything.

…But one spell couldn’t hurt.

He closed his eyes. Blocking out all the ambient noise, he focused on one thing. Picturing the book he saw in Nikki’s hands, he rotated it in his mind, piecing together its dimensions, filling the structural skeleton in with color and texture.

The vision behind his eyelids changed. He saw a meandering dirt path leading to a wooden bridge. A figure dressed in copper approached, and everything blacked out. Nikki was too far away for his meager location spell to reach, but he knew the direction to head in. Shaking off the fogginess in his head, he began sprinting towards the academy’s nature preserve.

When he got to the bridge, he was completely out of breath. That became inconsequential as relief flooded through him. Nikki was leaning over the railing of the bridge, talking amicably to the tiefling seer from the gate. The book was in the more lucid hands of the seer.

Nikki spotted him and, with a bright and less crazed grin, gave him a friendly wave. Upon closer inspection, as Dream warily drew near, her eyes looked clearer than before.

“Sorry, Aleister’s friend. You can have your book back.” She hopped over the rail, landing in the shallow creek with a small splash. “This was fun,” her smile was so sweet and normal when she spoke. “Let’s play again sometime.” She jumped to the opposite side of the creek and took off.

“Yeah, don’t hold your breath!” Dream called after her, visibly agitated.

A small chuckle came from the seer, who made no move to bring the book to Dream.

He eyed her skeptically. Her hood was down, revealing ram-like horns curling from beneath her orange-streaked locks. Her tail curved up like a question mark, which, from Dream’s experience with Aleister, implied benign intentions. She made it clear she was in no hurry, waiting for Dream to retrieve his prize.

Reluctantly, Dream climbed the steps to meet her. When he neared, she held the book out. An enigmatic smile was painted on her face as she stared at him, unblinking.

“Thanks,” he said unconvincingly, taking the book.

She held on for a little too long, but let go as soon as Dream got a foreboding twinge in his stomach.

They stood, sizing each other up in silence. Dream was sizing her up, anyway. He couldn’t tell what was going on behind her vacant stare. He got the feeling he should leave, but even stronger was the fear of turning his back on her.

“So you’re Aleister’s…friend?” He stammered out, unsure of what else he could say.

“Mm...” She thought it over verbally, “He and I, we’re not the friend having type.” Tucking her arms behind her back, she cocked her head and suggested, “Maybe more like kindred spirits?”

The ugliest flash of jealousy struck Dream. She laughed.

“No, not like that. I think it’s safe to say you’re the only one who feels that way about him.” Her shoulders twitched with a held in laugh, correctly assessing Dream’s scowl, “Oh, come on, I know he told you what I am.” She stepped forward and it took all of Dream’s fortitude not to step back. “You’re really easy to read.” She blinked, her smile replaced with a thoughtful look. “Strange, that Aleister hasn’t figured it all out.”

Clutching the book close to him, like a shield, he retorted, “Aleister doesn’t pry into my head because he trusts me.”

The smile came back, “Should he, though?”

He didn’t have anything to say to that. What a miserable sentiment. He gripped the book harder.

“Sorry,” she swaggered past him to the stairs. “It’s none of my business.”

Dream didn’t move. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her stop at the bottom step and turn to look up at him. He slowly turned his head, not wanting to look but not having any choice.

The slasher smirk was gone again. Pensively, she looked him up and down. Her eyes landed on the book, or rather, on his forearm. Raising her hand in a strange, three-fingered salute, she revealed a familiar mark on her wrist. It wasn’t identical to his own, but he knew what it was the second he saw it.

“Good luck, Velveteen Dream.”

“Wait--!”

With a flash of orange and red light, she vanished.

Sinking down to a seated position on the top of the stairs, Dream closed his eyes. He let his head fall to the side against the railing, not caring about the dull pain of the impact.

It was dark when he made it back to the tower. He dragged himself up the stairs, willing his screaming body not to collapse.

Inside was a welcome sight. The curtain around Aleister’s bed was open. He was curled up on the floor, resting his head against the mattress, with one of the fluffy white strays splayed out on his lap. He had taken Dream’s advice after all. At first, Dream thought he was asleep, but then his eyelashes flickered, and Dream noticed subtle movements of his fingers in the cat’s fur.

Not asking or waiting for an invite, Dream flopped down next to him, leaning against the bed.

Aleister didn’t look up, but acknowledged him with a murmured, “Welcome back.”

He was heavy-eyed, but nowhere near as haggard as when Dream left him. He had an air of familiar melancholy about him. It wasn’t the best time to ask questions, but Dream didn’t want to wait, while it was still fresh in mind.

“How much do you know about that seer woman?”

Eyes open all the way, Aleister peered at him, “Ember Moon? Why?”

“Ember Moon,” Dream repeated. “That’s not a normal tiefling name. Right?”

Shifting to look at Dream with his whole face, Aleister frowned, “Names are a complex matter in tiefling culture. Are you implying something?”

He sounded more annoyed than expected. Either he hadn’t fully recovered or Dream hit a sore spot.

Treading carefully, he replied, “She has the mark of a pact, same place as mine. It _looked_ like mine,” he emphasized. “I was just thinking if it was another of Belial’s cronies, or,” he shrugged, “if she traded her name away, too, she might know something.”

Realization dawned on Aleister’s face and he lost the sharpness in his tone. “I knew she was a warlock. I am unsure of the circumstances surrounding her pact, but…I did plan to consult her for a piece of my experiment.”

“Weren’t planning on telling me that, huh?” He asked dryly.

“A seer of her caliber is an asset.” He closed his eyes, relaxing against the bed, “I will tell you everything when the time is right.”

“Hmm,” Dream sat up. “Would the time be right if _I_ made dinner tonight?”

Aleister cracked an eye open, “I was under the impression you don’t cook.”

Of course he was. Dream told him he didn’t cook.

“With the right motivation, the Dream can do anything he puts his mind to,” Dream put the book on the floor next to Aleister’s knee. “Prepare to be amazed, and to loosen those lips on what exactly you’re going to do to get my damn soul back.” He cracked open the hatch door with his foot, putting his hands on his hips, “I mean, really, is it so much to ask? It’s my _soul,_ Aleister.”

Aleister smiled faintly as Dream descended the ladder on wobbly legs, accepting the condition in silence.


	13. Chapter 13

After making a perfectly passable meal, Dream got Aleister to promise he would clue him in on his plan. Not that night, Aleister was clearly still suffering from…whatever ailed him. Dream hoped a restful night of sleep would cure that.

The next day Aleister appeared to have everything under control again, back to his collected self. There was still a dreariness in his eyes, but his curtness had worn off. Very gently, Dream went to work probing for answers as they wandered the halls of the academy.

“It’s nothing impressive,” Aleister admitted. “There are very few surefire ways to find out a true name, remotely. I could, in theory, try to teleport to the demon’s location once you’ve scryed it, but,” he shook his head, “that’s riskier than I care to try. We don’t know how strong this thing is.” He stopped at one of the workshop doors, digging through his pocket for the key they borrowed, “Between Ember Moon and myself, we have a wealth of divining ability, but there’s only so much scrying one can do in a day before it drains you.” Unlocking the door, he looked at Dream, “Hence, that’s all _you’re_ going to be doing today.”

Dream forced a smile. He wasn’t looking forward to their scrying session. He wasn’t going to go looking for the demon, yet. It was just a practice run. They decided the safest person would be someone Dream knew very well, who wouldn’t be able to detect the spell being cast on them. The king was the ideal test subject. They would be safe from any physical harm, but there were other risk factors involved that Dream didn’t let Aleister in on.

Stomach in knots, Dream tried to will the session to go without any hiccups. Let the king be by himself.

Aleister stopped, hand on the door. He wasn’t looking at Dream. Then his hand tensed around the knob.

“I want to be perfectly transparent about this,” he started. “We might not find the name out in time-- we might not find it out at all.” He ducked his head, “I will do what I can, but--”

“Aleister,” Dream interrupted him, drawing his gaze. “It’s fine. Relax.” The look Aleister gave him said he didn’t believe him at all. “I trust you.”

Though he didn’t verbally or facially yield, Aleister dropped the subject and opened the door.

The academy’s lab was nothing like Aleister’s workshop. It was too sterile, lacking that homey feeling that Aleister’s had. It was about three times larger, lined with counters and cabinets to accommodate a full class of casters. The flooring was slate, contrasting against the white walls, perfect for drawing spell circles. Its windows were shuttered and locked, the primary light sources being magic lanterns bordering the room. Aleister leisurely paced around, touching each lantern to light it up.

Dream carefully set down the bag with all their casting materials in it. First, he delicately took out Aleister’s grimoire. There was a stupid little flash of pride he got whenever he held it, knowing Aleister now trusted him with it. He flipped open to the diagram of the scrying circle, then pulled the pouch of chalk out of the bag. The circle had to be an approximation of the diagram, but Dream kept referencing the page, trying to perfect it. If he only got one shot per day, he didn’t want to waste it on a shoddily drawn circle.

Aleister waited nearby with a display table, almost the perfect size to hold the mirror they brought with them. He leaned on it, hands folded, eyes trained on Dream as he worked.

It was an interesting change of pace for Dream, being observed by Aleister. He so often was the one watching Aleister, learning from him and, unfortunately, more recently, pining after him. Aleister had a history of scrutinizing Dream with that penetrating glare, but it wasn’t the same feeling as knowing Aleister’s eyes were on him when he wasn’t looking. He hoped the goosebumps on his arms weren’t as noticeable as they felt. Unable to help himself, he cast a look to the side, catching Aleister’s eye. Aleister cocked his head, like a dog hearing its name called, expecting further command. Dream said nothing, flashing a quick smile at him.

Dusting the chalk off his hands, Dream rose, “Done. Feel free to gaze upon my masterpiece in awe.”

“Beautiful,” Aleister responded, not looking at the circle.

That startled the smug grin off Dream’s face. Was he…? No. When Dream stood up he had looked away for a second, Aleister must have checked the circle then.

With assistance, he set the table in the middle of the circle and lifted the mirror onto it. He traced his fingers around the oval frame, following the vine-like dark grey filigree that decorated it. There were little bumps on it resembling thorns. It was very “Aleister.”

Turning to gather the rest of the ingredients, Dream almost bumped into the man himself, who was holding two chains in one hand and two vials in the other.

Hand over his chest as if in surprise, Dream asked with a smirk, “Are you _my_ assistant for today?”

Aleister said nothing, which was enough of a reply.

“Fine, don’t humor me,” Dream sniffed, accepting the chains.

He laid the thinner chain, made of copper, around the rim of the mirror. Then he made a circle in the center of the mirror with the thick, short zinc chain. Next was one of the parts he was less thrilled about. Aleister was already holding the jar out. With a deep breath, Dream uncorked it, reaching inside. It took a few months but finally, eyeballs.

The roc’s eye was much larger than he expected and felt hard and dry rather than the slimy squish he expected. Maybe that wasn’t the step he should have been dreading. Holding it gingerly between his index finger and thumb, he placed it in the zinc circle. Only looking out of the corner of his eye, Dream reached for the last vial. Aleister didn’t let go, forcing his gaze.

“Be careful,” Aleister spoke deliberately. “Don’t let it touch your skin. Try to pour it all on the eye. Go slowly.”

Instead of a snarky comeback, Dream nodded. Aleister was grave. The time for gentle teasing was over.

Needing a moment to collect himself, Dream held the vial up, looking at the greenish acid in the light of the lanterns.

“Are you ready?” Aleister stepped away, hand hovering over the back of Dream’s neck.

“Yeah,” Dream kept his eyes locked on the bottle as Aleister undid the clasp of his necklace.

Closing his eyes and raising his left hand, he summoned up that violet flame that existed in his mind’s eye. He mouthed the king’s name.

_“What motivates you?”_

_“Vindication.”_

The way Dream connected to magic was through more scholarly means than the clerics of his home country, but what truly drove him was the chip on his shoulder. It burned within him, the innate need to never be underestimated again.

Eyes open, he lowered the flask, tipping it. On contact, the eye began melting. The liquid spread quickly, corroding all that it touched. As the spell’s components dissolved to nothing and the mirror’s reflection became obscured, a new image appeared. The king was speaking to one of his advisers, from the temple of Neselthia.

Dream remotely felt Aleister take the empty vial out of his hand, which had frozen in the air. Electricity sparked within his fingers, and so he held still, not wanting to disrupt the spell, wanting to see how long he could hold it for. As long as there was nothing incriminating about the scene, he would push himself to his limits. The longer he could hold the spell on the demon when the time came, the more Aleister could become acquainted with it.

His heart shuddered in his chest and his tongue went numb. The crown prince, his eldest brother, entered the scene. Aleister didn’t know what any of his family members looked like, but the circlet around the prince’s head and the birthmark on his neck made his identity clear. It was obvious, just as it was obvious Dream looked nothing like his father or brothers. He took after his mother in so many ways. It was no wonder the queen refused to look at him when he entered a room, much less acknowledge him as the king’s son.

The crown prince only appeared for a split second, maybe not long enough for Aleister to register who it was, when Dream flinched, knocking the mirror frame over with his knee. He let out a little pained grunt for good measure, bracing himself against the empty table.

“What happened?” Aleister sounded as close to panicked as Dream had ever heard him.

Feeling a throb of guilt, Dream lied through clenched teeth, “Sorry-- I, I thought I felt a surge coming.” His fingers twitched against the wood as he let out a shuddering breath.

Aleister hurriedly put the limiter necklace back around Dream’s neck. Then in a rare act of affection, he touched Dream’s shoulder, squeezing it lightly.

“You’re alright,” he soothed. “And that,” another gentle squeeze, “was quite impressive.”

Dream gave him a weak smirk, “Did you expect any less from the Dream?”

“...Never.”

Dream let Aleister “help” him steady himself. Lying to Aleister wasn’t a huge deal, but lying to him and getting this compassionate response felt shameful. The worst part was that Aleister of all people wouldn’t judge Dream for the circumstances of his birth. He was probably the perfect person, no, the only person Dream could talk to about it. He felt safe with Aleister, especially with those heavily tattooed arms surrounding his body to keep him upright. Aleister wasn’t the problem.

The whole scenario was still raw, like burned skin. Touching on it, even lightly, hurt. The loss of his mother still stung, and being displaced to somewhere he had to grieve in secret did nothing to heal that pain. People around him insisted everything would be fine. At least he wasn’t living on the streets. He had the means to live a long and comfortable life, being taken in by his birth father. Though he lost his mother, he gained a new social status, a new family. Thirteen years estranged, then seven years unwanted, he sometimes wondered if he were better off dying without knowing them.


	14. Chapter 14

Aleister’s brilliant plan boiled down to, “I’m going to scry the demon over and over again until a secondary spell reveals its name.” Dream knew they were veering into uncharted territory when it came to demonic true names, but even so, the plan was uncharacteristically flimsy for Aleister. Aleister didn’t even seem sure of himself, so Dream made a point to support him with confident enthusiasm. They only had about a month left until Dream had to return home, they couldn’t be wasting time with second guesses.

The days flying by made Dream anxious. Aleister reassured him that, should time run out before he successfully attained the demon’s name, he would continue to work at it, with or without Dream’s presence. He was a man of his word, and those reassurances calmed Dream’s uneasy heart. There was still an unrelated shade of disquiet within him. It was by no means a proper priority, but he was really going to miss Aleister.

That was his first thought when he woke up from the “nap” he immediately took after his demon scrying session. It was less of a nap and more of a blackout. Otherwise, the spell went off without a hitch.

Seeing the monster that tricked him set off a whirlwind of unpleasant emotions and sensory feelings. That was what caused him to faint, not the effort of the spell itself. Though it drained his magic preserves, it came so easily to him the second time--and the first time wasn’t that much harder either. Not for the first time, a reluctance to leave shrouded him. He picked up the few divination spells so quickly, it made him want to look into the field further. Aleister would be the ideal person to learn from. It was possible one of the clerics in Renaize could show him a thing or two, and there was always that shaman he met in the lower party of the city. It wouldn’t be the same. It wasn’t what he wanted.

Shifting onto his side, Dream felt the sleepy haze start to wear off. He wasn’t in his bed. The mattress was stiffer, and the blankets were fuzzier, and when he turned his head he could smell cinnamon and trees on the pillowcase. Fainting from emotional distress wasn’t the exact way he pictured himself getting into Aleister’s bed.

Then he jolted upright. In those few seconds of realization, he could feel Aleister’s scent start doing things to him. If he was going to keep his crush a secret until the end of time, then the object of his affection’s empty bed was the worst place he could be. He had a few weeks left. He needed to avoid doing anything that would then make it hard to look Aleister in the eye.

He cast a wary eye on the pillow, mind wandering in spite of himself. His fingertips glided across the downy blanket. Over the months he spent looking at Aleister, he could almost piece together what he would look like on his back, panting and squirming. All he was missing was what lust would look like in Aleister’s eyes. What did his face look like when he _wanted_ someone?

Dream blinked. He wasn’t imagining it, Aleister was laid out on the bed. He wasn’t exactly in throes of desire, but he was naked and offering himself with clear intention on his face. Arms bracketing Aleister’s body against the mattress, Dream tentatively crawled over him. Ink covered fingers stroked down Dream’s forearm, lingering on his hand. Eyes locked onto Dream’s, Aleister pulled the prince’s hand to his hip, guiding it up his side.

“Velveteen Dream…” He purred, tilting his chin up, beckoning.

Dream leaned in for the anticipated kiss, and a tiny set of claws tugged at his pant leg. As if doused with ice water, he shrieked. Shoving himself away from the bed, he staggered back, swearing and red-faced.

The bed was empty. He grabbed at his bare sternum as something shiny next to the pillow caught his eye. Grappling with the chains, he refastened his necklace, shaking his head and muttering at himself. So much for being out of magic. Had he not been so distraught and embarrassed, he would have been puffing his chest out, all proud that he had managed not one, but two complex spells that should have been beyond his skill set. Instead, he was pacing around manically, trying to shake it off.

After a particularly sharp turn, he noticed a fluffy white menace staring at him from the bed.

“What?” He snapped at it. “I didn’t do anything.”

It replied with a silent meow, then kneaded the blankets.

“Yeah, you better keep your mouth shut,” he grumbled, turning his back on the creature.

Slowing his agitated treading, he crossed his arms. He needed to get out of the tower.

At the beginning of his training, when Dream figured he would be gone from home much longer than a few nights, he came up with a cover story to explain his absence. Initially, he thought to diagnose himself with wanderlust. It wouldn’t damage his image much, he didn’t have much of an image, to begin with, and it wouldn’t draw any questions from the king, just mild ire. Then, as he wrote the first letter, his pride dug its nasty little claws into his hand.

He wouldn’t have the royal family think of him as frivolous in his absence. He was done being considered a burden, a charity case. He crumpled the first letter up and threw it into the fire. He wrote instead, a flowery tale of a magic awakening. Finally, after all these years of anticipation, his mother’s spirit manifested within him, and he was granted godlike powers. And so he embarked upon a spiritual journey, to hone those powers, for the greater good of the kingdom.

The letter was another version of the truth. It was a prettier version, without demons or pacts or Aleister Black.

As time passed, he sent periodic updates. For the span of time in the forest, he gave no return address. At first, it didn’t matter, but then it bothered him, having a one-sided conversation. He wanted validation. When they transferred the project over to Ashennore, he told the king, should he wish to contact Dream, to send any messages to the mage’s guild. To his inexplicable dismay, the replies were politely disinterested. He was used to that as a response to his achievements, but he hoped, maybe this time…

More recently, the letters took on a different tone. He had been sending more dramatic recollections of the work he was doing. Suddenly, the king was more looking forward to his return.

“Ah, yes,” one of the guild’s administrators held up the envelope. “Another letter addressed to the Magus Guild’s Order of Ishtar,” he flicked his wrist, holding the letter out to Dream. “Which still does not exist, my friend.”

Clicking his tongue with a remorseful shake of his head, Dream responded, “Dear father’s memory seems to be going with age.”

“Tell that to the actual clerics over at Mystra’s temple. I think they’re getting sick of forwarding your mail here,” he passed it off with a good-natured grin.

“Not my problem,” Dream shrugged with a flighty smile. “Bye.”

The man mirrored Dream’s little flirty wave as the prince walked away. For a moment, Dream considered making an effort to know his name. He was decently handsome, and maybe a no strings attached fling would keep his mind off Aleister, who he very much wanted to attach strings to.

There was another option, a simpler one that Dream didn’t want to take.

No one back home had any expectations for him. He didn’t have to be an all-powerful sorcerer, yet, he could coast on his current ability. Going home early, missing a month of training, wasn’t ideal, but he could do it. A wild mage still hadn’t shown up, and even if they did, it wouldn’t make much of a difference so late in the game. It would be nice to learn how to deal with the surges, but not a necessity. He had gotten by with just the help of Aleister and access to the academy’s resources. With a little help, he could probably duplicate some of the materials from the library and take them home. He was already doing a fair amount of self-studying. He didn’t really need Aleister anymore as a teacher. In fact, Aleister’s efforts were far better spent on the pact. He could go home and be done with it all.

A handful of hours prior, he would have scoffed at the idea of leaving over a crush, but compulsively casting weird sex fantasy magic was a concerning change. More importantly, the longer he stayed and let his feelings develop, the harder leaving would be. Having a distracting affair with Eric, or Ethan, or whatever his name was, wasn’t a sustainable solution. Tracing the corners of the envelope, he resolved to leave by the end of the week, before things got any worse.

Stepping out of the business-adjacent side of the guild and into the tavern side, he saw a familiar set of horns. His heart did an annoying thing where it flipped over in his chest. Then, taking in the rest of the scene, it dropped.

There was a man, human from what Dream could tell, seated across Aleister. Forget the “passably okay-looking” guy at the desk, this guy was attractive. Dream didn’t like that. He didn’t like the charming way he smiled when he talked to Aleister, didn’t like the tattoo on his shoulder that looked too similar to one of Aleister’s tattoos, didn’t like the friendly way he clapped Aleister’s shoulder. And the worst part? Aleister was smiling _back_ at him.

Jealousy. Ugly, ugly emotion. It made Dream sick to his stomach. That alone was enough reason for him to leave early. He had a mind to tell Aleister right then and there, get it over with already.

Marching up to the table, he drew the attention of both men without saying anything.

“Dream,” the smile dropped from Aleister’s face, replaced with a surprised expression.

That change of expression stoked the unpleasant fire brewing in Dream’s stomach. Then, apparently in the mood to play with Dream’s emotions, Aleister smiled again, relieved this time.

“Feeling better, are you?”

“Yeah, I,” he looked away, sizing up the stranger.

Upon closer inspection, the man wasn’t as human as Dream initially thought. His brilliant topaz eyes were pupil-less and seemed to glow. Aside from that, he had a strange aura, not unlike the unsettling air Aleister and Ember Moon had about them. Except, instead of unnerved, Dream felt calm when he looked at him. That didn’t do much to diminish the cloud of chagrin that hung over Dream’s head.

“This is--” Aleister began introducing the two.

“I don’t care,” Dream pointedly looked away from Aleister’s companion.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the slighted man put his hands up in a gesture of surrender. Aleister looked less than amused.

“I need to talk to,” _you. Just say you._ He stuttered, willpower buckling, “Ember Moon. Have you seen her?”

It was true. He had meant to hunt her down since finding out she was a warlock.

Visibly baffled, Aleister replied, “You just missed her. Try Lathander’s temple.”

Dream suppressed a groan. That was about a twenty-minute walk. He suddenly sympathized with whatever poor souls had to keep delivering the king’s misdirected letters.

“So you talked to her about the…” He trailed off, glancing at the stranger, then back to Aleister.

“Yes.” Based on one short syllable, it was clear Aleister’s patience was thinning.

“Good. I’ll be off then. Enjoy your…selves.”

Calling the scenario a “date,” even sarcastically, was unpleasant.

As he flounced off, he swore he heard a hushed, “That’s the guy?” “Mmhmm.” He stopped and shot a glare back at Aleister’s friend, who cracked a laid-back smile at him in return.

* * *

It was Dream’s day to rudely interrupt two people enjoying themselves in peace. In the center of the divine district was a beautiful fountain, and at the side of that fountain was Ember Moon and another woman dressed in extravagant colors. Dream’s steps slowed. He didn’t have any animosity towards Ember, and he didn’t need to speak with her so urgently that he tear her away from her counterpart. He was feeling a touch of guilt for his behavior at the guild, and if Aleister couldn’t be a target of that remorse, Ember could. Then she looked past the other woman, making direct eye contact with him, beckoning him over.

He approached with apprehension in each step. The two were talking in a language he couldn’t identify. The second woman looked back at him, startling him. Iridescent scales sparkled in patches on her cheeks, following down her neck and visible shoulders. She had pearly eyes, like Aleister’s friend, and instilled that serenity in Dream that almost circled back around to being eerie.

She shrugged her jacket on and left before he could say anything, probably for the better. Ember watched as she ascended the steps to Lathander’s sanctuary.

“You can go with her,” Dream rubbed his arm, uncomfortable. “This is not that urgent.”

“Oh, no, I can’t,” Ember replied, eyes still trained on the stairs. “I’m not allowed on certain holy grounds because of, you know,” she raised her marked arm.

Dream sat beside her, panicked, “We’re not? Since when?”

“No, _I’m_ not. You probably still can.” She turned to him, pointing at the brand, “This is the mark of an archdevil.” She grinned, “Some gods already frown on tieflings for existing, to begin with. I decided to earn my ire.”

Inspecting the mark for the first time confirmed Dream’s suspicions. It matched Belial’s symbol, the real one, perfectly.

Deflated, he muttered, “Then you’ve never tried breaking it.”

Lowering her arm, she shrugged, “I haven’t wanted to. My decision was pretty informed. No offense.”

Dream huffed, but couldn’t argue. “But you’re helping Aleister break my pact?”

“I’m helping him summon a demon,” she corrected. “The pact is on him.” Then, with a curious hum, she asked, “Why do you want to break it so badly?”

Dream laughed, “Are you serious? Why wouldn’t I? Getting dragged down to be tortured in whatever circle of hell, becoming a mindless fiend, why would I choose any of that?”

“Who says they’re mindless?”

“A-aren’t they?”

“Who can tell?” She narrowed her eyes in thought, “But you…even if you weren’t hell-bound, you serve no god. Who would save you?”

Part of Dream wanted to put up some kind of barrier to stop her from infiltrating his mind at random. The other part of him was sort of glad he didn’t have to explain himself.

He scoffed, “I have the rest of my life in a very religious kingdom to figure that out. I’d rather languish in an empty void than be tortured, anyway.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” she said in a disarmingly sing-song voice. “But forget all that. Forget the afterlife. Let’s say you break the pact. What happens to you then?” She paused, searching his face, “Aleister may have told you otherwise, but there is such a thing as a mundane soul. If you go back on your deal, you could lose your magic.”

“That’s impossible,” he stammered, genuinely taken aback. “I’m a wild mage. There’s no way I _wasn’t_ meant to have magic.”

“If you take the sword from a master swordsman, he becomes just a man.”

“No, I-I need this. Aleister wouldn’t break the pact if he knew…” He looked down, hands clenching into fists on his lap. “The geas book,” he realized aloud. “He’s been researching writing oaths, he must have found a workaround. Right?” He looked back at her, eyes pleading.

“If you’re trying to get inside Aleister’s mind, there’s only one person you can talk to for that.”

“But you know demons. Could writing a new contract work?”

Kicking her legs, she looked up at the sky with another thoughtful sound, “I’m not sure. Maybe. If the demon is weak enough to be coerced into it.”

Dream made a face at the wording. The no torture clause may end up being thrown out the window.

Studying him once more, Ember spoke in a light tone, “You should go.”

“Go…?”

“Go apologize for making a scene?” She coached.

“It wasn’t that bad. Get out of my head.” He stood to walk away, then paused, “And the Dream does not need you talking down to him. I was getting to it, alright?”

“Were you?”

“Bye.”


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case anyone's interested, I commissioned art for this chapter from a dear friend of mine and it's *chef's kiss*: https://twitter.com/RaphaelHawke/status/1248277583579545600?s=20

“I know how to tie a tie, Dream,” Aleister obediently stood still despite his complaints.

“No, you do not,” Dream chuckled, cinching the silken fabric beneath Aleister’s collar. “I just spent five minutes watching you not know how to tie a tie. And even if you could, this particular knot is for experts only.”

“You are the only one insisting I do some elaborate nonsense with my tie.”

“And it looks _so_ good,” Dream inflected as if in agreement.

Satisfied with his work, he folded down the collar of Aleister’s shirt. He couldn’t drag the man away from another black on black ensemble, but at least he got away with some silver highlights here and there.

Apologizing for being rude to Aleister’s friend was quick and painless. Aleister hardly seemed concerned about it by the time Dream got to him. Announcing he was leaving didn’t go as well.

Faethserin had an annual celebration at its capital, inviting representatives from all across the country for a ten-day-long “Festival of Unity.” Before the coup, according to Aleister, it always seemed like a forced cover-up for the tyrannical rule of what was formerly known as the Adraedian Empire. After the coup, it seemed just as forced, but in a manner of proving how well the nation worked as a commonwealth, that they were capable of coming together united, without an authoritarian grip on their lives.

As fascinating as the politics behind the celebration were to him, Dream immediately perked up at the implication of a party, and there was no amount of bloody revolutionary history that could mute that. He enjoyed the academic life he led in Ashennore, but it threatened to grow dull. He missed the limelight he basked in for the last few years. His stint as a socialite was recent and brief, but he learned quickly that being adored was his calling in life. To his surprise, it was with amusement Aleister took that explanation in, rather than scorn.

There would be other parties in life, especially once he got back to the capital. He should have kept with his plan to leave. But those parties would be missing one very important element.

“And I suppose you’ll stay home with your books?” Dream had asked with disdain.

“I’ve told you of this gala for your benefit, not mine.”

“But, Aleister, I’m,” he leaned in, lowering his voice to an exaggerated whisper as if someone unsavory in the tower could hear, “a _prince_. Representatives from other countries come, too, don’t they? What if someone tries to assassinate me?”

“Perhaps you shouldn’t go.”

“Perhaps someone should come as my bodyguard,” he winked.

A pained look crossed Aleister’s face.

“Oh, fine, don’t be my bodyguard. Be my date. _I’ll_ protect _you_ from assassins.” He hoped the warmth he felt in his face at the “joke” wasn’t translating into anything noticeable. “Is that more palatable for you, Aleister Black?”

“I don’t have anything to wear for these types of events,” he threw out his final defense.

Dream laughed. That wasn’t an excuse, to him. That was a challenge.

Taking Aleister clothes shopping was a weird experience. It went beyond his adversity to color and frills. When it came to formal wear, he was totally out of his element. Dream had to hold his figurative hand through the sizing process. It was baffling. Aleister wasn’t affluent, but there had to be at least one instance in his life where he had to dress himself up a bit. After the bewilderment wore off, it ended up being one of those endearing traits of naivety, or something close to it, that Aleister displayed occasionally. This time he seemed to be genuinely anxious about it, so Dream kept his amusement to himself.

Dream traced his fingers over the intricately layered knot. Biting his lip, he hoped the way he was surveying Aleister’s body could be passed as admiring his handiwork. The silver embroidery on the lapel, pocket flaps, and cuffs had been his pet project, a personal test in showing off his conjuration skills. It turned out beautiful, no surprise there. He drew his finger from the collar to the sleeve head, enjoying the way Aleister’s broad shoulders filled out the jacket. The black tailcoat had looked a little gloomy on its own, but the combination of Dream’s magic touch, and Aleister’s body being in it, it became sharp, striking. They made a good team.

Aleister cleared his throat, drawing Dream’s attention back to his face. He arched an eyebrow at the prince.

“And is this a becoming enough look for your bodyguard escort?”

Chuckling, Dream swiped his finger beneath Aleister’s chin, replying, “Becoming indeed.”

Aleister smiled back at him and Dream felt his knees going weak.

Unable to look at him for much longer without letting something incriminating tumble out of his mouth, Dream whirled around to finish dressing. He managed to get on a white silk shirt, lace gloves, and black leather pants before getting distracted by Aleister’s battle with his accessories. He donned the purple frock coat that he added his own touch to it as well; black paisleys patterning the shimmering fabric. One final piece and he would be ready. He lifted the three lensed tinted glasses from his pocket, sliding them into place and turning to face Aleister.

“Did you make those, too?”

With a little shake of his head, Dream replied, “I found them at that little arcane shop you’re so fond of. The owner said something about protecting your mind’s eye,” he flourished his hand dismissively. “It’s a fashion statement. That’s all that matters.”

Cracking another smile that made Dream’s heart do a cartwheel, Aleister responded, “Well, either way, you look very handsome.” He extended his hand, “Shall we?”

“Oh, what a gentlemanly bodyguard I’ve found.”

The amphitheater was put out of commission to host the Festival. Outdoors was an odd choice, to Dream, but the early spring weather was being kind to Ashennore. Floating lanterns, suspended by magic, lit the place up, ensuring nightfall wouldn’t put an end to the festivities. Dream suspected there was further magic at work in case the weather took a bad turn. He absently touched his collarbone, feeling the necklace underneath his shirt. Detecting magic, while a very simple spell, could lead to a sensory overload under certain situations. With the limiter still on, he could direct his focus, rather than have every bit of magic blinding him. Reassured at its hidden presence, he took a closer look at the sky. Translucent gold webbing covered the amphitheater in a dome shape. Traces of the same gold hung around the lanterns. It was pretty, but nothing special. He had seen better.

He glanced at his arm, loosely hooked with Aleister’s, as though the other man was a proper escort. He lightly touched Aleister’s forearm, calling his attention.

“Thank you,” he said with quiet sincerity. “For coming with me. I know this isn’t really your wheelhouse.”

With a faint smile, Aleister went back to surveying the crowd and other fixtures of the theater, “Think nothing of it.”

Dream nudged him with his elbow, producing a soft grunt, “Can’t you just say “you’re welcome?””

“You’re welcome.”

Smiling brightly, Dream nudged him again, lighter this time, “And there you go. Let’s go mingle. Or is that too much to ask?”

“A bit too much, maybe.”

Dream expected getting back into the spotlight would be exhilarating, after living like a hermit for months. It was fine, no more than that. He still enjoyed being around other people, getting that rush of satisfaction as he charmed them with ease, but it wasn’t the same. He thought at first it was because no one knew who he was, no one acknowledged his birthright. That wasn’t it. To his dismay, he realized it wasn’t that the festivities were less fun. They were overshadowed by something stronger, something that made Dream’s heart soar when it smiled at him.

So frustrating. He hoped the festival would distract him from Aleister, at least a little bit. It was hard to not have a little focus on him when the mage spent a good deal of the night on his arm, but even when they separated for a short span, Dream’s mind wandered back to him.

Plucking a wine flute from a server’s platter, he scanned the crowds for Aleister. He hadn’t seen him in over thirty minutes, and that concerned him more than anything else. Perhaps Aleister wasn’t as hapless in social situations as he assumed.

Taking an experimental sip of the spiced wine, he made a face. He could hear the gods laughing at him as he picked up on hints of cinnamon.

Instead of Aleister, Dream ended up locking eyes with a face he knew but had no name to put to it. He tried to avert his eyes, but was moments too late, as the other man gave him a nod, raising his own glass. Swallowing a groan, Dream waved back. He didn’t really feel guilty for snubbing Aleister’s friend before, but he considered making nice with him, for Aleister’s sake. He could always change his mind by the time he got to the table the man was standing at. No matter, it would keep him entertained until Aleister popped up again. He pulled off his glasses and sauntered over.

“Hey.” He and his glowing eyes were still annoyingly handsome up close.

“Hi, um,” Dream raised his eyebrows, leaving an intentional pause.

“Ricochet,” he extended his hand. “You must be the infamous Velveteen Dream.” He smiled as Dream gingerly accepted the handshake.

“Oh, you’ve heard of me?” Dream responded with faux humility.

“Aleister’s mentioned you,” he clearly deflected, sipping his wine.

“Funny, he hasn’t said anything about you.”

“Ooh, ouch,” He didn’t sound phased at all. “You’re really cutting me deep, here, man.”

He was a little too easygoing for Dream’s taste. Plus, he had that weird relaxing aura. After running into Ricochet and then Ember’s consort, he learned they were both aasimar. He was fully unfamiliar with the race, but as he was informed, that naturally soothing air was part of the packaging. Being told what to feel, think, or believe to any degree and by any means had always rubbed him the wrong way.

“So, what, are you part of his little diviner coven, too?” He pried.

“What? No. No, no, I’m not a mage or anything.” Ricochet looked surprised, as if he thought Dream was kidding when he said he never heard of him. “I’m,” he gestured to his shoulder, where his tattoo was hidden under his suit, “a monk?” Reading Dream’s confused expression correctly, he continued, “So you don’t-- Okay. Well, it doesn’t matter, that’s not how I met Aleister either. I was trained in a Ramatep monastery, nowhere near him.”

Two implications hit Dream at once, and he didn’t know which one to follow up on first.

“So you’re from Cineia?” He went with the one that sounded less clueless.

“Does the Northern Desert count?”

Dream bit his tongue. It was one of those places he was warned were full of savages, but after all his amicable strolls through a certain forsaken forest, he came to realize most of those tales weren’t true. Regardless, the desert was as much a part of Cineia as that forest was; geographically, not politically.

“If you’d like,” Dream replied with a diplomatic shrug.

“So, Renaize, huh?”

Dream did a double-take, “How did--?”

With a quick wink, Ricochet responded, “You got a little bit of a western accent. Took a guess based on,” he gestured to Dream’s outfit.

“Please, the Renaize aristocrats wish they looked this brilliant.” He rolled his eyes, taking another taste of the wine, “The royal family’s formal wear makes Aleister look like a peacock.”

That got a laugh out of Ricochet, “You can get less vibrant than black on black?”

“With the right attitude attached to it, yes.” He hesitated, then decided to go for it, “Aleister used to be a monk?”

Still with a hint of a smile on his face, Ricochet narrowed his eyes, perplexed. It made Dream feel like he asked the wrong question. He tried not to show it, but he felt himself deflate.

That pang of insecurity that was always right beneath the surface hit him. Except this time it wasn’t about being better than someone. He didn’t know Aleister as well as he thought he did, or as well as other people did, and it stung for some stupid reason.

Then Ricochet was almost tripping over himself to respond, “Yeah, uh, sorry. I forgot how cagey he gets.”

Dream stopped listening. It sounded too much like Ricochet was trying to make him feel better. He leaned against the table, staring off into the sea of faces. He spotted Aleister a ways away, talking to someone Dream didn’t recognize, to his surprise. He felt more relief than jealousy that it turned out Aleister actually knew more than five people in the entire city. Ricochet noticed him too.

“Oh, there’s our boy.” He nudged Dream with his elbow, “Go enjoy your date, yeah?”

Dream gave him a sullen look, “We’re not on a…” He trailed off, then looked back at Aleister.

Ricochet cleared his throat awkwardly, “Listen, I, uh, obviously can’t keep my foot out of my mouth tonight, so I’ll leave you to--”

“What was it like?” He interrupted. “Being an aasimar in Cineia.”

Ricochet already started to turn away, but hesitantly relaxed back into place, “Honestly? It sucked.” With a little bitter chuckle under his breath, he continued, “Got a lot of funny looks from people in the mainland. At best. At worst,” he gestured to a scar over his eyebrow.

“Sounds like Cineia,” Dream said with a forced, shaky laugh.

He didn’t have anything to follow up with. He felt another calmness in his heart, not the same as the one from Ricochet’s aura. It was solidarity. He wasn’t crazy or alone, feeling the way he felt where he grew up.

“It’s kind of,” Ricochet started, then stopped. “You know,” he started over, “in the history books, aasimar and tieflings are supposed to be like, diametrically opposed. But in practice, being the odd one out,” he shrugged, “there’s a bond there. I think that’s what drew me to Aleister.”

Dream thought of Ember and her aasimar partner, how beautiful they looked together, so different from one another and from everything else around them. Begrudgingly, he turned his mind to the memory of Aleister and Ricochet sitting across from each other. Demons and angels, there was poetry there. A human, no matter how othered, didn’t belong in the same verse.

Unawares to Dream’s impending spiral, still looking out to the crowd, Ricochet grimaced, “Sorry, that sounded way more romantic out loud that it did in my head. It’s not like that. He’s like a brother to me.” A smile twitched on his lips as he changed his tone and the subject, “And, okay, for real? Sometimes I get worried I’m his only friend, so,” he bumped Dream’s shoulder with his fist, “be good to each other.” Suddenly something--or someone?--else caught his eye, and he excused himself, “I better go. Enjoy your not date.”

Ricochet slipped off as Aleister approached them. Aleister watched after his friend with a puzzled look on his face, then shrugged. Then he looked at Dream, with a much softer expression, one that made Dream forget all of his worries.

“Hey,” Dream smiled back at him.

“Enjoying yourself?”

“You know I am.” Absently swirling the remainder of the wine in his glass, he cocked his head, “You never told me you were a monk.”

“You never asked,” Aleister didn’t seem too shaken by the accusatory tone.

“How would I know to ask?” Dream replied dryly. “So was that a ki strike when you broke my nose?”

“No. That was just my elbow. If I was using ki, I would have destroyed your entire face.”

“Well, thank you for not doing that.”

“What a disservice that would be.”

Dream raised his eyebrows. Aleister was unmistakably flirting with him. It wasn’t the first time, either, he didn’t think. The other times he could explain away the behavior as situational, but he was being flirty in his own aloof way, all evening. Emboldened, and not thinking as straight as he should, Dream set aside his glass.

“Dance with me.”

Alarm crossed Aleister’s face as Dream grabbed his hand and led him in the direction of the stage that had been re-purposed as a dance floor.

“No, I don’t dance,” he tugged at his wrist, but had yet to dig his heels in; not a bad sign.

“You don’t know how to dance?”

“No, I don’t _like_ dancing. I can dance.”

“Perfect,” Dream hit him with a dazzling smile. “Just one dance, then? For me? Early birthday gift?” He could see Aleister start to crack as they got closer to the stage. “I’ll lead?” He offered.

“No, I can lead,” he reassured Dream, very firmly.

Then he slowed, and Dream figured he lost the fight. Instead of taking back his arm and storming off, Aleister made an unfamiliar gesture with his free hand, mouthing a few words. Warm mist cloaked the two temporarily, then faded into their bodies.

“So we’ll be seen, but not recognized,” Aleister explained.

Dream gave him an amused look, “I know it’s on a stage and all, but the crowd is pretty thick. If we stay on the edge, no one will even notice us.”

“...I think eyes will be drawn to you, regardless. Come.”

Dumbfounded, heat creeping into his cheeks, Dream stumbled after Aleister up the stairs.

The slow sounds of strings echoed across the stage. The sun had left the sky, the stars and moon hidden behind clouds, leaving only the glow of the lanterns to light the stage. They bowed to each other properly. The next step was usually a kiss on the hand, but to Dream’s disappointment, Aleister bypassed that step, holding his hand up, palm out. Dream tentatively raised his own hand to mirror Aleister’s. As they circled each other, they didn’t touch. Their hands hovered close, a hairsbreadth between their palms. When Dream’s pinkie brushed Aleister’s thumb, he almost apologized. Then Aleister held his hand with a gentle grip as Dream twirled slowly, before being pulled back in again. An ecstatic grin was plastered across Dream’s face, delighted by Aleister’s unexpected grace. He had danced with enough clumsy men in his life to appreciate one with finesse.

“So much for not being good at dancing,” Dream murmured. “Did they teach you footwork like this at the monastery?” He teased.

“I never said I wasn’t good at dancing. Just that I don’t enjoy it. And yes, being light-footed is essential for hand to hand combat.”

Dream’s comment was cut off with a noise of surprise as Aleister lifted him at the waist, still turning in time with the music. When he was set on his feet again, Dream burst out laughing, trying to anchor himself on Aleister.

“I didn’t think you were going to do that part!” Nervous giggles threatened to swallow his words. “Full of surprises tonight, aren’t you?”

Aleister responded with an enigmatic smirk.

“You’re _good_. Why don’t you like this?” Dream asked once he regained his bearings.

Still following the steps, Aleister dipped him down low. He paused there, gazing longingly at Dream.

“For the life of me, I can’t remember.”

Dream’s heart pulsated in his chest as Aleister pulled him upright. They weren’t dancing anymore. His hands were frozen at Aleister’s shoulders, as Aleister’s were on his waist.

_I should tell him how I feel._

The ill-advised thought repeated itself over and over in Dream’s head until he and Aleister were leaning into each other, lips meeting in a tender kiss.

_Maybe I don’t need to._

Winding his arms around Aleister’s neck, Dream kissed him again. Aleister sighed against his lips at the stroke of Dream’s lace gloves on his skin. He took his hands from the small of the prince’s back, grabbing onto his hips, beneath his coat. A startled sound from Dream broke another kiss as their bodies pressed up against each other. This time, though, it stopped them. They remembered where they were.

Dream glanced around. No one had noticed them, and with Aleister’s spell, no one recognized them either. Then he turned back to Aleister. Aside from the redness in his cheeks, Aleister was characteristically self-possessed. Dream pursed his lips, knowing another challenge when he saw one.

“We should--”

“Let’s get out of here,” Dream cut him off.

Aleister nodded, but neither man moved yet. They lingered close, eyes locked on each other, afraid to look away, to move, to ruin the magic of the moment.

With one last peck, Dream grabbed one of the hands at his waist and pulled Aleister from the stage.


	16. Chapter 16

They didn’t make it very far; outside the amphitheater’s wall to a spot sequestered by trees and almost out of reach from the lanterns. Levelheadedness had gone out the window and was replaced with hunger. Dream pinned Aleister against the wall, holding his chin steady as he passionately kissed him. Then he let go, dragging his hand down Aleister’s torso. He grasped the other man’s hips, holding him still as he brought their bodies together.

For as dominant as Aleister had been during their dance, he let Dream do as he pleased. The lack of initiative made Dream nervous for a moment. Then he kissed down the side of Aleister’s neck, and a pleasured sigh breezed past his ear as the mage leaned into the touch. Grazing the skin with his teeth, Dream listened for changes in the sounds Aleister was making.

Curiosity struck him. He had never done anything sexual with a tiefling before, of course. It was time for some discoveries. Untucking Aleister’s shirt, he ran his hand up his spine, then back down, to his tail. Experimentally, he pressed his fingers against the base of the tail and was rewarded immediately. With a short yelp, Aleister clenched at the lapels of Dream’s jacket, hips bucking forward. Dream heard his breath hitch as he chuckled softly, kissing Aleister’s earlobe. Still curious, he traced his lips around the edge of Aleister’s ear, to the pointed tip. Nothing special there, but Aleister’s hips were still twitching as Dream plied at his tail.

He pulled back to assess his work. Aleister’s eyes were closed, lips parted with faint breaths. Surely he could do better than that. Reaching around Aleister’s horns, he undid Aleister’s hair tie, letting the dark waves fall to his shoulders. Stroking it, with occasional light tugs, Dream returned his attention to Aleister’s mouth. To his displeasure, Aleister turned his chin away from the kiss.

“Someone could walk by.”

“They won’t recognize us,” Dream reassured him flippantly, nuzzling his jaw.

“Dream.”

Tilting his head up to look Aleister in the eye, Dream asked, “Do you want me to stop?”

Aleister hesitated. He didn’t.

Toying with Aleister’s tie, Dream murmured, “If only someone could cast a spell that would make us invisible.”

“You’re the illusionist, are you not?”

Taking a gamble, Dream smirked at him, “It’s poor manners to chant incantations with your mouth full.”

“That’s not--” Aleister cut himself off with a double-take, eyes wide as the implication registered in his brain.

He set his jaw, eyes darting away. He was wavering. He needed a slight nudge before he caved.

Dream brushed his forehead against Aleister’s, forcing the other man to look at him. “It’s not often a prince offers to get on his knees for you, Aleister.”

Aleister cursed under his breath, then muttered something in Infernal, waving his hand. A magical grey haze surrounded them.

Dream kissed his cheek, smiling. He knew he now had a promise to deliver on, but he was the type to play with his food first. It wasn’t as though Aleister would suffer for it. Besides, anyone who didn't enjoy getting worked up by foreplay, starving with anticipation until they were _begging_ for him, wasn’t someone Dream had any interest in sleeping with in the first place.

With soft, withholding kisses, Dream loosened Aleister’s tie. He already mussed up his hair and shirt, but he wanted to see the unshakable man looking a little more disheveled. Unbuttoning his shirt, he kissed a line of slow, lingering kisses down Aleister’s throat. He felt him swallow hard as he got to the last button.

Pulling back, he looked down at the exposed skin. He had seen Aleister half-naked before, but this was different. He leisurely ran his hand up Aleister’s torso, feeling each breath. Aleister tensed when Dream got close to his pec, so Dream smoothly switched direction, drawing his hand up the center of Aleister’s chest, splaying his fingers over his collarbone before brushing them up the side of his neck. At that close range, he saw the hairs on Aleister’s skin stand up at the gentle stroke of silk against the sensitive spot. He kissed him again, this time with a light tease of his tongue. Arms hung loosely around Dream’s neck, Aleister curled his fingers in the fabric of his collar. The heat of his mouth and the way he clung closer each second was doing things to Dream. With Aleister pressed up against him, he could feel _him_ getting turned on, too.

Reluctantly he tugged away from the kisses. This was about starving himself for Aleister just as much as it was about getting Aleister desperate. He couldn’t get impatient.

An almost undetectable whine came from the back of Aleister’s throat when Dream broke the kiss. Perfect. He was breathing hard through parted lips, wet and reddened from attention. There was craving in his heavy-lidded eyes as he stared up at Dream, wanting more but unsure of how to ask. It occurred to Dream that Aleister might be a virgin, or similarly inexperienced. He bit his lip, conflicted by the idea.

He shook it off. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was that Aleister wanted this, and he wanted this, too.

He shifted his footing, turning Aleister’s hips so he was standing at his side. Keeping his left hand at his waist, his right wandered down to Aleister’s belt. With two fingers he tugged the end of the belt out from under the strap but didn’t unbuckle it, yet. Instead, his hand traveled further south, resting at Aleister’s crotch. Petting him through his pants, letting the fabric do most of the work for him, Dream bit his lip again. His arousal was becoming more apparent, and Dream’s patience frayed as it hardened in his hand.

Meanwhile, Aleister braced himself against the wall, covering his mouth with his free hand. Dream frowned as the needy groans he was starting to pry out of Aleister were muffled. It was by design, and he couldn’t argue with the choice. The spell made them invisible, not silent.

Even muted, the noises coming from Aleister made Dream’s breathing turn ragged. He tried to stay focused, unbuckling Aleister’s belt, kissing his neck. His resolve cracked as he slipped his hand down the front of Aleister’s pants. He pressed up against his hip, grinding against him, letting out little breathy noises as he jerked the other man off. Now Aleister was biting his hand, moaning desperately, nails scrabbling at the wall.

Just as Dream was about to relent, get on his knees, and deliver on the job he promised, Aleister grabbed his wrist.

“I, I can’t,” Aleister panted. “The spell. I can’t keep it up. Please, I,” he stammered, looking blearily at Dream. “Let’s go home.”

Among all the sensory pleasure, it was Aleister referring to the tower as their home that made Dream’s heart skip a beat.

“Think you can handle that?” It wasn’t a teasing challenge this time; Dream had no interest in being caught by any bystanders.

With a shaky laugh, Aleister kissed his cheek, “I can try.”

* * *

Even while horny beyond reason, Aleister performed a perfect teleportation spell, landing them on the spell circle in the tower. They shed their clothes immediately, as Dream ignored the part of himself screaming not to leave them on the floor in a crumpled heap.

Despite the brief hiatus, the passion between them raged on, kissing each other breathless, limbs tangled as they fell into bed.

Dream settled between Aleister’s legs, savoring the sight of him on his back, panting and wanting.

Running his fingers over his thigh, he murmured, “Beautiful.”

Aleister grimaced. Dream raised his eyebrows.

“What?”

“I…don’t like being called beautiful.”

“Okay,” Dream relented gently, leaning over to kiss him again. “How about striking?” He muttered against his jaw. “Stunning? Alluring?” He nipped his earlobe, “Maybe just sexy?”

A weak laugh, then Aleister guided Dream’s face into another long, impassioned kiss.

“I’ll take that as a, “yes, Dream, and you’re the most breathtakingly handsome man I’ve ever met in my life,”” he teased, kissing Aleister’s temple. “Now, I believe I owe you something…”

It only took a few deft strokes of Dream’s hand to get Aleister back to full attention. Dream traced the lines of precome with the tip of his tongue, holding back, just a little. He had to string him out a tiny bit more, refraining from doing anything with his hands beyond holding him still and gently massaging his inner thigh. Tonguing at the head, he casually cast a glance up at Aleister’s face. The mage was biting his knuckle, breathing shakily, anticipating. Holding his gaze, Dream planted open mouth kisses up and down the shaft, flirting with his tongue.

Finally, he ducked his head down, taking Aleister in at a steady pace, not wanting to choke himself _or_ work the other man up too quickly. Humming softly, he closed his eyes, wanting to shut out everything that wasn’t the sweet sound of Aleister’s voice.

Nothing.

Dream cracked an eye open. Aleister’s hand was over his mouth. He was trembling, gripping at the sheets. There were black spots of blood on his knuckles from being gnawed on.

Pulling back with a cough, Dream gave him a mystified look, “What are you doing?”

Aleister blinked at him, then pulled his hand away, as if he hadn’t realized. “Sorry. Old habit. Bad habit.”

Tilting his head in a curious fashion, Dream pressed his lips together. At the very least, that meant he wasn’t dealing with a virgin, which was a plus. Still, that was a concerning blip in behavior.

“It’s fine. I’m fine.” Aleister reassured him, his tone and cadence calm and believable.

“If you say so…”

They were starting to lose steam. Dream started regretting leaving the amphitheater before finishing.

“...Is it a habit you want to lose?”

“Yes.” A response with no hesitation.

Dream nodded, then dragged Aleister further down the bed by the hips (which drew the cutest little surprised gasp out of him). Then he pulled Aleister’s hands over his head, gripping his wrists, pressing them into the pillow.

“How about this?”

Again, he didn’t say it in a taunting, challenging manner. He was being genuine.

Aleister’s breathing shuddered, his eyes wide. Then a grin flickered on his face.

“Yeah. That’s perfect.” He tilted his chin up, beckoning Dream in.

Having his hands restrained sparked something in Aleister. He kissed Dream with a furious passion, tongue pressing into his mouth, teeth nipping at his bottom lip.

The new position meant a change in plans, but Dream was at his limit anyway. Pressing his cock against Aleister’s, he sighed against the other man’s cheek at the instant relief. The slick feeling of flesh on flesh as he rutted against Aleister, guided by his free hand, was overwhelming. He buried his face in Aleister’s neck, moaning his name softly.

Aleister’s chest heaved with every gasp and whimper. Then he wrapped his legs around Dream’s waist, hips bucking. It was too much. Dream’s hips stuttered, legs trembling. He was so close already. Unable to stave off any longer, he let go off Aleister’s wrists, seizing his hip and pinning it to the bed. Holding him in place, he frotted against him desperately, whining from deep in his throat.

Aleister threw his arms around Dream’s neck. His mouth was right by Dream’s ear, and Dream could hear him biting his lip, hindering his voice. Dream sunk his teeth into the curve of his neck, solving his problem by drawing a yelp out of the other man, followed by a low, hoarse moan. He let out a silent laugh, his breath over the bitemark making Aleister’s shoulders twitch. He sucked at the tender flesh, leaving a mark of his own next to all those tattoos. 

Aleister cried out one final time, hips surging as he dug his nails into Dream’s neck, right below his birthmark. That last shock of pain pushed Dream over the edge. His vision blurred as he rode out the high, still thrusting as their intermingled lust painted Aleister’s stomach. Aleister’s limbs went limp around him as he breathed raggedly on his shoulder.

As the tension went out of his own body, he planted his hands on the mattress, steadying himself. Aleister languidly disentangled from Dream, leaving one arm draped over him. He absently rubbed the back of his neck, a pleasant warmth emanating from his fingertips when they touched on the scratches. Dream hummed contentedly, easing down at Aleister’s side. Post-orgasm bliss overtook him, making his body and eyelids heavy. He closed his eyes, only for a moment, he told himself. Drifting off in spite of himself, his last thought was a wistful one. He wished Aleister had said his name.


	17. Chapter 17

Foreboding hung heavy in the air when Dream opened his eyes. When he fell asleep, he was nestled up next to Aleister as the other man tenderly stroked his back. Now, Aleister was sitting at the edge of the mattress, by the foot of the bed. His hands were folded under his chin as he stared straight ahead, frowning. His hair was damp, and he was half-dressed. He had to have been up for at least an hour. As if there weren’t enough warnings signs, his tail was flicking anxiously.

Dream shifted under the blankets, pretending to sleep. There was always a chance that, when he woke up, whatever funk Aleister was in would be over. He might change his mind about whatever it was he was going to tell Dream. Even better, maybe what was putting Aleister in this somber, contemplative state had nothing to do with him. Heart in his throat, Dream knew that wasn’t true, and physically couldn’t feign sleep.

He rolled over to look at Aleister again.

Voice hoarse with sleep, he “joked,” “Breaking up with me already?”

“Dream…”

Easing himself up to lean on his elbow, fist under his chin, Dream squinted at him, “What’s wrong?”

Setting his hands in his lap, Aleister finally looked at him, “Last night was, um,” he lowered his eyes, conflicted.

One eye closed, Dream glibly suggested, “Best orgasm you’ve had in years?” He sat all the way up, shifting to sit more comfortably, “Look, whatever you need to say--”

“It shouldn’t have happened,” Aleister cut him off firmly, then winced. “I, forgive me, that’s too harsh. It wasn’t,” a frustrated sigh, “a good decision, for me.”

“Mistake, Aleister, the word you’re looking for is mistake,” Dream rolled his eyes, trying to act haughty and detached. “It can be just a one-time thing. Don’t stress yourself out making it out to be more than it was,” he stretched his arms above his head, working out the kinks in his back.

With an offended look, Aleister shifted to face Dream head-on, replying, “Well, it-- for me it was--” He was getting himself tongue-tied. “I don’t…know. This is not like me. Any of this.”

Realization struck him, and Dream’s eyes widened, “Are you…not attracted to men?”

A mortified scowl crossed Aleister’s face, but he didn’t say anything.

That was a lot to process. Dream folded his arms, cocking his head to the side. Aleister was getting antsy under his scrutiny, eyes darting to the side, tail twitching a little faster.

“The Dream is flattered, though indignant, to be your experimental awakening,” he said once he found his tongue. “Not the first time it’s happened to, probably won’t be the last.” Trying to keep it light, he added, “Wish you would’ve said it was your first time with a man, I would’ve been a little more…adventurous.”

Without thinking, he flirtatiously brushed Aleister’s shoulder as he finished talking. Aleister stiffened, pulling back. It wasn’t by a lot, but it was enough to hurt.

Dream gingerly took his hand back. “Wow. Alright. If that’s how it’s gonna be, then,” his tone dripped with resentment as he got up, wrapping one of the sheets around his waist.

“Wait,” Aleister called out. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to,” his hands clenched in his lap. “I’m sorry.”

“You already said that.”

“I had no intention of misleading you,” his eyes pleaded with Dream as he looked up at him.

Forcing another roll of his eyes, Dream eased off, “And _I_ already said it’s not that big a deal.” Half-smiling, he lied, “Really. No hard feelings.”

Aleister’s relieved smile simultaneously melted and crushed Dream’s heart. “Thank you.”

“I think I owe you an apology, too.”

The smile dropped, replaced with pure confusion.

“Isn’t it obvious? If you decide men are more your speed in the future, no one you sleep with is going to measure up to me.” He shook his head sadly, glowing with mock sympathy, “I’m sorry I’ve destined you to a love life of subpar gay sex. I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me.” Then he winked, blowing him a kiss, “But, hey, you know where the Dream lives. If you get fed up with mediocrity, I might take pity on you. _Might.”_

Aleister laughed, at ease, but shaky.

“Now,” hiking up the sheets, Dream sauntered over to the ladder, “I am going to get my clothes and clean myself up. Do not look at the Dream’s ass when he’s climbing this ladder naked, you have not _earned_ it.”

He could practically hear the eye-roll in Aleister’s response, “Alright, alright.”

* * *

Overcome with ennui, Dream laid in the washtub on the ground floor, staring listlessly at the ceiling. The water had long gone cold and he couldn’t bring himself to cast anything to reheat it.

He was frustrated with Aleister, but he at least _got_ it. He wasn’t lying when he said this wasn’t his first time being someone’s experiment. Granted, all the other times, he knew the situation going into it. He didn’t have an emotional attachment to the other man. Most importantly, he didn’t get immediately rejected the next morning. He didn’t even blame Aleister for not saying anything outright. It was a difficult situation and, once more, Dream didn’t know that much about what Aleister’s life was like before he met him. He didn’t know what culture he was brought up in. He didn’t even know where Aleister was _born_. He knew Aleister wasn’t trying to trick or hurt him. He managed to do so, spectacularly, anyway.

His anger was mainly directed at himself. Retroactively, he saw things that were off. Aleister had been very firm about wanting to lead in their dance and cringed away from being called beautiful. It was like he was afraid of being feminized, by the mere act of being with another man. There was a sort of lost passivity about him the entire time. The situation had “not used to this” written all over it. He was so skittish, too. At the time, Dream attributed it to healthy anxiety. People acted weird when they had butterflies. Of course Aleister was nervous. Because he had feelings for Dream, the same feelings Dream had for him, and after all this time they were finally…

He covered his mouth with a cough, squeezing his eyes shut. Tears were welling against his will. He thumped the back of his head on the rim of the tub. No, he wasn’t about to start crying over this. He was too old for that.

More to the point, he should have gone home already. Now it was too late. If he left, Aleister would suspect something was up. He would know Dream had been lying. If Dream was going to leave and never see him again, he didn’t want Aleister’s last thoughts of him to be reproachful.

The water was icy. Giving in, he cupped his hands together, conjuring heat, warming the tub. It was a waste of a spell. He shouldn’t idle much longer. He considered washing his hair to kill time and keep him away from Aleister, but it was too early in the week for that. With a frustrated groan, he hit the edge of the tub with his heel.

_Unproductive moping it is, then._

He needed a plan. The one bright spot out of the whole situation was that, even with “no hard feelings,” it would be completely reasonable that he feel awkward around Aleister. It was his right to avoid him for a bit. He couldn’t outright leave, but he could put some distance between them. He had his job, and they still had nine days of the festival left. He could go home after the festival. It was still an early departure, technically, but he could make it sound reasonable to Aleister.

With a sigh, he leaned back and closed his eyes. Things were so complicated. He wanted to tell Aleister how he really felt. He didn’t want to keep jumping through a million hoops to keep up an image. It would be easier on him, but it would definitely make Aleister feel bad. He still cared too much about Aleister’s feelings. If he hurt Aleister before he left, he would carry that with him. Bitterly, he thought the real solution was to forget all about Aleister. Forget the time they spent together, the feelings he developed for him; if he forgot all that, he could leave, and hurt him, and not care that he hurt him.

His fingertips buzzed, and he opened his eyes. Purple smoke materialized at his fingertips.

“No!”

He jolted upright, splashing water out of the tub. Frenzied, he grabbed at the necklace sitting on top of his folded clothes, clutching it close to the heart threatening to jump out of his chest.

The smoke was gone. The wild magic threatening at his fingertips was snuffed out. He remembered Aleister. He knew Aleister. He closed his eyes, letting out a shuddering sigh. Still clutching it tightly in his fist, he pressed his lips to the chain. Erasing him wasn’t the answer. Even if it was, it was plain as day that he couldn’t go through with it.

He shook his head, a single tear escaping him. There was no point in holding back when he was alone. He had to face it. He was heartbroken.


	18. Chapter 18

Moderation wasn’t a strength of Dream’s, particularly not when he was upset. The festival scene did nothing to help that vice of his. Aleister didn’t go with him any of the other days, Dream pointedly didn’t ask him to, and he wasn’t close enough to anyone else to drag them along as his date slash chaperone. He very briefly considered asking Ricochet, but his calm, plucky atmosphere wasn’t the mood Dream was going for. That hunky mage guild guy whose name Dream still hadn’t gotten down seemed like an alright option, but he didn’t want to gamble on another potentially straight person. He was usually flirty with Dream, but Dream also thought that about Aleister. He decided to err on the side of caution, give himself an ego check, and assume it was all in his head. There was nothing wrong with flying solo.

Night two of the festival was comparatively dull. Not knowing or going with anyone was never a problem, he could strike up and carry a conversation with a mute. It just wasn’t fun anymore, superficially flirting with whoever caught his eye. And then he started drinking.

The rest of the night blurred together. He remembered getting pulled off to a corner by a handsy elf girl. They fooled around a little, but he didn’t go home with her, and neither did he offer to take her with him. It was fine. He probably had fun. Better yet, he didn’t wake up with a hangover.

The third night ran a fairly similar course. Got tipsy, messed around, didn’t commit, went home. The next night he switched gears, drinking a little less, unintentionally. He was derailed by a few familiar faces.

First, he was stopped by a mildly concerned Ricochet. Drink in hand, Dream insisted over and over that he hadn’t drunk enough to warrant that sort of response. Then he flirted with him a little, in a totally vacuous way, and he made sure Ricochet knew it. Even aware Dream wasn’t serious, Ricochet firmly let him know he was taken, but appreciated the fake interest. Finding out Ricochet’s partner was another man almost pushed Dream to unload all of his Aleister-related problems to him, whether he liked it or not. He might _get_ it, and he might know what to do about Aleister. Then he heard two words in a voice that made his blood go cold.

“Your Highness?”

Dream sighed and downed the shot in his hand. He knew that incredulous, annoying voice. He turned very slowly on his heel, forcing a smile, ignoring the look Ricochet was undoubtedly giving him.

“Roger, how truly uninspiring it is to see you again,” he said in the most pleasant tone he could muster.

Roderick’s face clouded over and he snapped, “You know that’s not my name, Dream!” Then he cleared his throat, “I mean. Your Highness.”

Dream would never get sick of hearing lower-ranked nobles call him that, especially ones that had once lorded their status over him. He absently touched his knuckles, wondering if they even remembered the day he ran afoul of them. He was younger then, not yet recognized for his birthright. It always made him nervous. Did they address him with spite because they remembered who he used to be, or because he was the entitled adopted son of the king who went out of his way to antagonize them for no reason? Or was it just because they were assholes?

It didn’t matter. His eyes darted around Roderick, searching. Where there was one, there were usually three more. Not that they could do anything to him, not anymore, he was just in no mood for them.

“Why are you even here?” Roderick had (apparently) still been talking at him. “Thought you were supposed to be training to be an acolyte or something.”

“I am,” Dream dismissed him, not bothering to look his way. “I would love to regale you with all sorts of fanciful tales to bring back to father, but the truth is, it’s none of your business. Honestly, even speaking to lower level nobles such as yourself during my training could completely disrupt my equilibrium. From the goddess Ishtar herself, I have been commanded to have eyes only for her, and to only associate with those Chosen by their royal blood.” He laid a hand on Ricochet’s shoulder, “Isn’t that right Prince,” he glanced at the pattern on Ricochet’s pocket square, “Puma.”

A dubious look flashed on Ricochet’s face, but he nodded solemnly.

“Oh, he’s in a very delicate stage of his anointment,” he informed Roderick, whose face was a mixture between disgust and disbelief. “He’s taken a vow of silence before lesser bloodlines. We must be going.”

He caught sight of another of Cineia’s “ambassadors” that ran with Roderick as a collective. It was definitely time to leave. Not waiting for a response from either man he was speaking to, he steered Ricochet in the opposite direction, walking off with him hooked on his arm.

“I can’t leave the party, Dream, my partner’s still here,” Ricochet spoke once they were out of earshot.

“Oh, you should introduce us.”

“Not gonna happen, _Your Highness,”_ he replied dryly. “That’s fun, what a fun little detail about you. Where’s Aleister?”

“I don’t know or care.”

“Did you lose him?”

“No, he’s at home. Probably. Look, just walk with me to the nearest exit and you can get back to,” he gestured vaguely, “Ricochet business.”

Ricochet slowed down, impeding Dream’s pace as well.

“Hey man, I know we’re not friends, but I gotta ask. Are you okay?”

Dream gave him a glare of misguided anger.

Ricochet’s eyes glinted especially brightly and he shrugged, “Sorry, I know I’m not a mage or anything, but I can still read your aura.”

Extracting his arm from Ricochet’s, Dream shrugged, shaking his head, “I don’t know. Doesn’t matter.” He pointed behind him, “I’m gonna go. Try to avoid those guys, but if you cant, just keep pretending your name is Prince Puma. I’ll owe you one.”

“Keep your favor, just get yourself home safe.”

Dream grimaced. “Ugh. Stop caring about the Dream. You disgust me.”

Ricochet laughed. Then he bid Dream goodnight, sauntering back to the party with his hands in his pockets.

As Dream wandered back to the tower, he felt that last shot. He wasn’t getting any of the fun side effects of drunkenness from it. It skipped him straight to a hangover. He didn’t want to see Aleister in that state of being, but he didn’t have any money on him to rent a room.

Nothing in his life ever seemed more insurmountable than the stairs to the tower that night. He hunched over the railing, staring wistfully. There weren’t any lights coming from the windows. If he fell, he was probably on his own.

Step after nauseating step, he pulled himself to the top. He knew the door would be locked when he got there; Aleister was either gone or asleep. Still, he let out the most pitiful whine as he leaned against the door, digging through his pocket for the key. The place where his head lightly connected with the door throbbed as he pushed inside.

As he suspected, the tower was empty. He loitered by the coat hooks, trying to rid himself of his shoes without bending down. He was pretty sure if he bent over he would puke. What was in that damn shot?

He wrestled out of his jacket and shirt, dumping them on the floor. Standing motionless and shirtless, he stared at the coats on the wall. Finally, he grabbed at what looked like, in the dark, his woolen cloak jacket. Tugging it off, he winced as the rest of the hanger almost went with it, then clattered back against the wall.

Wrapping himself up, he wandered over to the ladder. Touching one of the rungs, he looked up, then started laughing. Definitely not.

He trudged to Aleister’s bed. Everywhere else in the apartment was hard, he reasoned, as he flopped down on the foot of the bed. He was only going to stay there until Aleister got home and could maybe cast a minor healing spell to fix his condition.

Paper crinkled as he shifted on the bed. He frowned, feeling around his jacket for the noise. Eventually, he found the inner pocket. The letter from his father from over a week ago was in it, looking worse for wear. It was still sealed. He had forgotten completely about it. Picking at the wax, he debated on whether it was worth reading at this point. The seal broke apart, making the decision for him. Holding the letter close to his face, he squinted in the dim lighting.

“My dearest son,” he read, retching sarcastically.

Then he almost retched for real. He covered his mouth, breathing through his nose. Not that Aleister didn’t totally deserve to have his bed barfed on, but that was a level of crassness Dream preferred not to stoop to, for the sake of saving face at least. Spiting Aleister wasn’t worth getting looked at like he was an idiot child with no self-control.

_I hope that this finds you in good health. It has been over a month since your last reply, and I grow concerned.--_

Dream crumpled the letter up and lobbed it into the void. He was busy. He didn’t have all the time in the world to be writing to the king.

His temples throbbed and he closed his eyes. He would write something short to reassure the king he hadn’t been kidnapped or killed or anything when he was in a better frame of existence.

* * *

Dream woke up in Aleister’s bed, still alone, but with signs of Aleister surrounding him. A blanket had been tossed over his body. The clothes he had discarded were folded neatly on the table next to a mug of tea, covered to keep it warm. The letter from the king had been smoothed out and refolded, left on top of the clothing stack. His head no longer throbbed and his stomach was settled.

He didn’t touch the tea, but the table of magnanimous gestures gave him a touch of guilt for those brief feelings of rancor the night before. What Aleister did was thoughtless, but not malicious. Dream could be as angry and hurt as he wanted, but he had no right to actually take it out on him. At least, it wouldn’t give him more than the briefest wink of catharsis.

He decided to read the letter in a more sensible state. The general gist of it made him frown. He could only assume one of the high priests got in the king’s ear, making him suspicious of Dream’s, admittedly vague, reports of his education. Cineia was a rather self-absorbed and -sustained nation, not known for sharing diplomatic bonds with other countries. Dream played on their ignorance to reassure them that his studies were still linked to the pantheon _they_ followed so closely. If they learned there was no proper shrine to Ishtar within Ashennore’s city limits, that could present an issue. Any holes in his story threatened to expose him for his deals with demons and associations with heretics.

In a historic decision, the king wrote, he would be sending select ambassadors to the Festival of Unity. Invitations had been extended by the Empire in the past, but they were always turned down, in an attempt to avoid controversy. Even Cineia in its theocratic nonsense didn’t support the iron fist of the Adraedian Empire.

At some point, the king decided there was a line between being worldly and being in danger of corruption, and Dream was crossing it.

All of this was interpretation on Dream’s part. He knew how to read between the lines. He may not have been a life long royal, but seven years was long enough to develop the survival skills he needed.

Dream set aside the letter with a sigh. He wondered if Aleister read any of it before dutifully folding it for him. The ignorance was laughable, if Aleister had also deduced the subtext of the letter.

He hoped the hazy ramblings of mystique he gave Roderick were enough to obscure what he was doing but still make it seem like he was following the true path, or whatever it was the king wanted. Naturally, as ambassadors, they were going to give a full detailed report of the behaviors of his wayward, errant son. Dream rolled his eyes. If he saw them again, he would make sure to give them a good show.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "the implication adam cole exists in this world makes it a horror fic" -Hope with legitimately one of the funniest beta notes I've ever received. Nothing but respect for our longest reigning NXT champ, baybay, but god I want him to eat shit some days. A+ heeling. 10/10.


	19. Chapter 19

For the rest of the day, Dream didn’t see a trace of Aleister. He wasn’t actively looking for him, but his absence occurred to him as he sat bored and glamouring another jacket for night number five. Aleister had to come home eventually, or so Dream assumed. He shrugged it off. It didn’t feel eerie or unnatural. He was fine, wherever he was.

Getting out of the tower and going to the amphitheater felt like a chore that night. He lingered at the gate. There were plenty of the same faces from each night of the festival, so it wasn’t unusual to attend every one, but Dream was starting to feel like ten consecutive nights was excessive. There were different acts and themes for every night to keep things freshened up, but it still grew tedious.

Touching the back of his neck, where the scratch marks were inflicted and healed by Aleister’s hand, he sighed. Under normal circumstances, the parties wouldn’t feel so dreary. This was a problem with him, not the festival.

He thought about turning back, but for what? An empty room? Or worse, a room alone with Aleister?

The idea pained him, but he could use the appearance of the ambassadors as an excuse to leave. That would subject him to traveling home with them, but the only risk he ran with that was being annoyed the entire trip. Calculating in his head, that was maybe a week of travel, ten days if they dawdled. He would have to get a horse.

Originally, nothing but his own internal anxieties about being perceived a certain way was stopping him from leaving. Then he got to thinking. If he toughed it out and waited until Aleister completed the ritual, he could leave forever, physically, and emotionally. If he left before it was done, he would have two options. One, sit around, waiting, and pining for a cold, formal letter summoning him to the Wild. Two, go home, remove Aleister from his mind completely, and then get walloped ten times harder when the letter he forgot he was waiting for showed up.

None of his options were any less painful, just differently painful.

It crossed his mind that the ritual might not get finished before the hard deadline of his 20th birthday. One option was more painful, he amended in his head.

He didn’t relish the thought of voluntarily talking to any of his fellow Cineians, but it wouldn’t hurt to know when they were leaving. That would factor into his ultimate decision to stay or go.

Weaving through the crowds, he saw no sign of them. A quick location spell determined they were still at whatever inn they were lodging at, but they were on the way. In the meantime, a drink or four would soothe him in his wait.

It may have been the alcohol, but it felt like he had stood blankly staring at the musicians of the night for hours. Still no sign of the ambassadors, and when he tried to use magic to find them again, his head felt fuzzy. He entertained the idea of taking off his necklace. There were a lot of people in attendance. The collateral damage if he had a surge would be unconscionable.

As he was about to make the rounds again, he found himself face to face with Ember Moon. Her greeting to him fizzled as it was halfway out of her mouth. Her usual enigmatic exterior visibly faded when he looked at her. Orange light glittered around her eyes. Not for the first time, he wished he had a defense against her magic. Even if he could see it, he never felt it. There was nothing tangible he could push back against. He was lucky she held no ill will against him. He would hate to be one of her enemies.

“Oh, no,” she shook her head.

Dream recoiled at her tone. He never heard her sound so distraught. She looked like she was about to cry.

“No, this is all my fault,” she was still shaking her head. “I just thought he would be the one to help you. I thought if I brought you here…” She grabbed his arm, “You don’t want this pact, do you?”

He tried to pull his arm away, “What are you talking about?”

She let go, looking away with her jaw set in frustration. Then with a wave of her hand and a curtain of orange energy, she changed her appearance. It was no longer Ember Moon who stood before him, but the shaman from Renaize.

“I had a premonition,” she explained in the shaman’s elderly voice. “As direct and indirect servants to Belial, we are connected.” She turned back into her regular self. “I’m not the type of warlock who wants to hold others hostage for her patron’s sake. If you don’t want this,” she seized his wrist, turning it to reveal the brand, “then you should be able to leave.” Crestfallen, she added, “I was just trying to help you. I’m sorry.”

This time when Dream gently tried to remove her hand, she let go of him.

“I don’t understand. You did help me. You still _are_ helping me. You and Aleister both--”

“Velveteen Dream,” she cut him off quietly, touching his cheek. “Aleister knows your patron’s true name.”

That couldn’t be true. He felt his face morphing from its screwed up look of confusion, to wide-eyed, slack-jawed horror, to jaw clenched, brow furrowed anger.

“How long?” His voice was a whisper, shaking with rage.

“A week. Maybe longer.”

The cheap glass of his wine flute cracked beneath his thumb, and as calmly as he could, he asked, “Where is he?”

“I don’t know--”

 _“Where is he?”_ The glass collapsed in his hand.

“I,” Ember looked panicked, but she closed her eyes, casting. “A-a workshop at the academy. Unit, uh, 2A.”

Casting aside his broken glass, Dream stormed off with purpose, not bothering to exchange another word. What he didn’t see was four sets of eyes on him. Even if he had seen, he wouldn’t have cared. He was seeing red and had eyes only for Aleister.

If he was “fine” after his all-day disappearance, he wasn’t going to be for long.

* * *

Aleister made the mistake of not locking the door to 2A. It was after hours, and he was alone. He would be in a very precarious position if someone with a grudge were to ambush him.

Dream nearly ripped the door off its hinges, startling the man hunched over his grimoire.

“Dream--”

Dream slapped him in the face. Bits of glass residue and wine that clung to his hand now decorated Aleister’s cheek. Aleister froze, processing, then looked back at Dream with hellfire in his eyes.

“No,” Dream spat. “No, you don’t _get_ to be angry! How _dare_ you!”

“I don’t know what you’re--”

Dream ripped his necklace off, the clasp snapping against his neck, and threw it to the ground as Aleister looked on in shock and fear. He raised his hand, letting uninhibited energy flow from his fingertips. Collateral damage was much lower now, and the alcohol had him feeling gutsy.

“No, no, you’re not gonna lie to me, you’re not gonna run away. I’m gonna ask the questions, and you’re gonna tell me the truth. Got it?”

The purple smoke clustered at Aleister’s wrists and ankles. It collected around his head, sinking into his skin. For a moment it seemed to choke him, then he exhaled.

“Yes,” Aleister answered automatically, then scowled.

A twisted smile spread on Dream’s face. The raw, unformed spell was working perfectly. Aleister was clearly trying to move but wasn’t budging. Dream paced around him leisurely, like a beast hunting its prey.

“Aleister Black,” he sounded the man’s name out. “I was always under the impression you were a virtuous person. Maybe not necessarily good, by textbook definition, but someone who had principles and upheld them.”

“Tell me Dream, are you going to ask me something, or try to play mind games with me?” Aleister asked venomously.

Dream pointed threateningly at him, “First of all, you keep my damn name out of your mouth. And second, you found the demon’s true name.”

“Yes.”

“And you’ve been keeping it from me.”

“Yes.”

“Why?” Dream threw his hands up, flabbergasted. “What explanation could you possibly give to put off casting this ritual? What exactly is it that’s keeping you from getting me back my _eternal soul?_ Aleister, I am begging you to give me a reason.”

“The geas isn’t finished,” Aleister growled. “In fact, I’ve been working on it all day until you came in.”

Dream’s face got hot. Then he remembered the look on Ember’s face. That distress etched across her features confirmed it. Aleister wasn’t innocent. There was more to his story. He was slanting the truth.

“And you didn’t tell me about this massive breakthrough because…?”

There was no excuse for that. None.

The strain was visible on Aleister’s face as he replied, “I was afraid you would get impatient and go over my head. You’re so ambitious, it’ll be your downfall. I didn’t want you to try summoning the demon on your own because of my inadequacies. If you got hurt, or worse, because I wasn’t able to get the job done fast enough, I could never forgive myself.”

The anger in Dream’s heart softened. The “for your own good” reasoning was annoying, but at least Aleister’s heart was in the right place. It was infuriating that Aleister thought he was so reckless, though. When they started training, maybe he would have gone on ahead and rushed into a spell that was beyond his ability. Things weren’t like that now. He trusted Aleister to get his soul back. Hubris wasn’t going to be his downfall, it was blind faith.

A part of his brain began to taunt him that he overreacted. Aleister might have said something to him if he hadn’t been avoiding him. Things were awkward between them. Poor communication was a bad excuse, but it was better than being held hostage. The way Ember defined her beliefs as a warlock made Dream think Aleister had, the entire time, planned to keep him bound to his demon. He thought Aleister wanted to trap him.

“Is that really it?” He asked without thinking, forgetting his spell, perhaps for the better.

Aleister’s face twitched, jaw tensing. Then he let out a strangled noise of pain. His eyes were squeezed shut as sweat beaded at his forehead. He was trying to resist the spell.

“No,” he finally choked.

“What?” Dream recoiled, irritation spiking again. “What else are you hiding?”

Aleister’s eyes flew open, and he spat out, “I’m in love with you!”

Staggered and wide-eyed, Dream took a step back. A hurricane of mixed feelings plowed into his chest. The turmoil wrapping around and choking him like an overgrown weed weakened the spell. The mist around Aleister’s wrists and ankles thinned, and his knees buckled beneath him. His movements were sluggish, still effected, but Dream worried maybe not for long.

He wanted to be elated. Aleister Black was in love with him.

Then reality hit. For days that felt like weeks, he mourned his broken heart. He tripped over himself trying to find a way to act normal. He wracked his brain planning out the perfect exit strategy that would hurt the least amount. He did that so Aleister wouldn’t feel responsible. Aleister let him suffer. But why?

“What…does that have to do with anything?”

Aleister’s face was scarlet. He tried to cover it as he spoke, words coming out rushed and stilted.

“I’m not just holding back for your safety, I’m stalling. Because suddenly I have all these petty emotions and I don’t know how to deal with them and I don’t want this to be over yet. I don’t want you to leave.”

“Then ask me to stay!” Dream shouted back. “All you had to do was ask! Are you even listening to yourself? Violating my trust, manipulating me, what did you think was going to happen?” Beyond flustered, he skipped that line of rhetorical questioning, not letting Aleister answer, preferring to rant out his anger first, “I’m not going to just disappear forever, we’re friends. Even after everything, I wanted us to stay friends! Or--something. Getting back my soul doesn’t mean--”

“It does!” Aleister snapped back, embarrassment at his own thought process written all over his features. “You have your own world to return to, as I must remain in mine. Your family cannot know of my existence, you’ve said it yourself. I’m behaving like a child and I am sorry, but,” he was getting choked up. “I don’t know what to do.” His voice was pitiful. “Please,” he begged softly, “break the spell. I can’t have you prying any further.”

“Oh? And why’s that?” He humored him with a sneer.

Aleister’s nails dug into his scalp, his rage coming back with a vengeance as he snapped, “Because there are things about me I don’t want you to know yet.” He clawed one hand down his face, fixing Dream with one enraged eye, “And if you force me to tell you, I promise you I will not complete the ritual and I will never forgive you.”

It wasn’t an empty threat, the spell was working too well for that. Dream took a few steps back, plucking the necklace off the floor with two fingers. The smoke disappeared. It was over.

The tenseness went out of Aleister’s body with a sigh of relief, and he was free. He didn’t physically lash out in the way Dream braced himself for. He buried his face in his knees, looking as vulnerable and childlike as he claimed he felt.

There was nothing more to say. Dream left him there.


	20. Chapter 20

They went for five days without seeing each other. Dream considered leaving a note but didn’t know what to say. Aleister knew he wouldn’t leave the city while he still didn’t have the demon’s true name. If he wanted to know Dream’s exact location, he could figure it out on his own. Dream moved all of his things from the tower into the inn he had so longed for several months back. It didn’t feel as good as he anticipated. He rid himself of one roommate and added two more in the forms of righteous anger and debilitating depression.

To his credit, he didn’t lay around his room stewing, and he didn’t go to the amphitheater and drink his problems away. He worked at the guild, spent time in the nature preserve, and prowled around the academy’s various facilities. A little into his third day, his anger had cooled down.

_“This is not like me. Any of this.”_

Aleister’s words echoed in his head. These sorts of emotional decisions weren’t his style. When he tried to explain himself to Dream, under the spell, he sounded helpless and ashamed. Dream could understand feeling lost enough to make an uncharacteristic decision.

It frustrated him. Once again, Aleister hurt him with no malicious intent. It would have been easier if their entire time together was a ruse, knitted together by a devil who wanted to watch Dream suffer. Instead, it was the ministrations of a love-struck fool, a confused man unable to reckon with his own feelings. And Dream loved him back. Holding Aleister accountable was difficult when his confession released doves in Dream’s heart.

The next move in their game wasn’t Dream’s to make. Aleister was tasked with making amends. Dream had no plans on initiating. It wasn’t his place to, this time. He was owed an apology, but if he had to go collect it, he didn’t want it. So he waited, with all his vexing, conflicted feelings.

All that internal conflict brought him to the divine district one day. He never explored it properly. In fact, he had only been there once, with Ember. Perhaps, with all the pain in his heart, it was the time to pick a god to pray to.

The district known simply as the Sanctum was the oldest part of the city. Each individual sanctuary was fastidiously maintained by its respective groundskeeper, and he imagined the interiors were similarly taken care of by the priests and priestesses. Even with that attention, the area was never updated beyond patch jobs. While the rest of the city looked sleek with its smooth marble and paved streets, the architecture of the Sanctum was dark and angular. Though it didn’t look dirty, it lacked a certain polish the rest of the city had. It had a sort of old-world charm to it.

At the gate of each temple was a stone slab, professing the exploits and virtues of each god, enticing the reader to walk through their doors. That’s what Dream assumed. The plaques had not been updated either and were written in an older form of Sylvan he didn’t entirely understand.

He stood in front of one of the signs, wondering if he looked as lost as he felt. He was very good at projecting confidence, but at least one person recognized his inner thoughts as he tried to stitch something together from the Elven script.

Soothing warmth blossomed in his chest. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. At that moment he realized how much he missed feeling it.

“Savras, the All-Seeing,” Aleister’s voice was quiet and even, as he stood a respectable distance to Dream’s left. “A deity who presides over divination and fate. The monastery I grew up in was dedicated to him.”

Dream opened his eyes, looking to the symbol hanging over the gate, a crystal ball covered in eyes.

“You have his symbol tattooed on your right shoulder,” he murmured. “It took me by surprise, seeing it here.”

“Will you go inside?”

Dream bit his lip, eyes still locked on the arch, “I’m not sure I’m ready to step onto holy grounds again.”

“At the far end of the Sanctum there is neutral ground, a garden. All are welcome, with or without a patron.”

Dream reluctantly broke his gaze away, glancing at Aleister. He looked somber as ever, dressed in all black with his hands clasped in front of him as though attending a burial. He didn’t look like the man who broke down under the weight of a truth spell mere days ago.

“Why are you telling me this?”

“I would like you to accompany me there.”

Dream wanted his apology, and he wanted to be with Aleister in some shape or form, but seeing his face stirred resentment within him

Eyes dull, he sullenly asked, “Why should I go anywhere with you?”

“You seem very tense, standing here. I thought a change of scenery may do you some good. And…I have something I want to talk to you about.” Aleister looked away, eyes lowered. “It begins with an apology.”

Dream eyed him in silence.

“I’ll take your apology right here, then decide if I want to go with you.”

Unexpectedly, Aleister’s response to that was a fond smile. Dream tried not to show how much it affected him.

“I want to apologize for,” his voice wavered, but he kept his eyes locked on Dream’s, “everything. As you said, I broke your trust. I was being selfish and irrational. I should never have let my personal feelings get in the way of…this,” he reached inside his jacket and pulled out a small scroll. “The geas is complete. I want you to look it over before I begin the ritual. I want to make sure it’s everything you want. Then…you can go home.”

Dream looked at the scroll. What he really wanted an apology for was Aleister breaking his heart. Aleister didn’t know he did that. He didn’t know his feelings were reciprocated. Unfortunately, Dream was going to have to make sure he never found out.

He gingerly accepted the scroll but didn’t open it. He looked down at it in his hands. It felt so light, it was hard to believe it was strong enough to defeat a fiend.

He tapped the scroll against his palm, turning back to Aleister, “Is that it?”

Aleister actually recoiled. Before he could get too hurt or confused, Dream hurriedly followed up.

“You don’t usually act with your emotions. It’s kind of shocking they took you this far. I was expecting an explanation along with the apology.”

Relief emanated from Aleister as he replied, “An explanation is an excuse. There’s no excuse for what I did.”

“Maybe so,” Dream conceded. “But isn’t it easier to forgive someone when you understand them? Humor me.”

Aleister’s mouth pressed in a hard line, and he shrugged, “There is not much more to say. I have…feelings for you,” it seemed so much harder for him to say, not under the spell. “And I handled them poorly.”

“Is that as in-depth and honest as you’ll get with me?”

“I don’t want you to go,” he said bluntly. “In my head, it felt like I was losing you. I got desperate. I wanted to make you stay. It was wrong and selfish and I’m sorry.”

With a little simper, Dream murmured, “Apology accepted.” He bit his lip, wanting to give some sort of touch of consolation, something comforting. “So about that garden…”

A half-smile quirked on Aleister’s lips, but there was something melancholic about it.

Dream wanted to offer his arm, in the same manner that Aleister escorted him to the festival. That gesture would have two very different meanings to each of them. In Dream’s head, he was making the best of what little time they had together. He wanted to be close to Aleister, physically, and emotionally. In Aleister’s eyes, ignorant to Dream’s real feelings, it could only be read as a mocking act, leading him on. So they walked side by side, a healthy distance between them still.

“If you can teleport, why bother walking anywhere?” Dream filled the silence with genuine curiosity.

“The weather is very nice today.”

“Oh, you make jokes now?” Dream asked dryly. “You know what I meant. Longer distances. Like the amphitheater, we walked there, but teleported back.”

Aleister scoffed, “I don’t think either of us was in any condition to walk back.” Then he answered seriously, “It’s a very difficult spell. For my personal level of ability, I try to only do it once a week, and only if I truly need it. There are certain risk factors, as well, when it comes to accuracy.”

“So what you’re saying,” Dream sounded out deliberately. “Is you could have put us in _another person’s house_ that night if you weren’t focused enough?”

“The tower has a spell circle, we were perfectly safe,” Aleister reassured him with a touch of annoyance.

“If you say so,” Dream replied with exaggerated distrust in his voice.

The garden was more like a park. There was a sectioned off part of the area that was nothing but beautifully blooming flowers. The rest was dutifully trimmed grass, small ponds, scattered trees, and benches. The handful of other people in attendance were clustered over at the garden area, which drew Dream’s interest away from it. He had enough of “other people.” He wanted to be with Aleister, alone.

They ended up sitting on the bank of one of the larger ponds. Dream started making daisy chains to keep his hands occupied, while Aleister stared at the water, his tail twitching in a way that made Dream concerned for the ducks.

The comfortable, casual conversation died off after a while. Dream was more than happy to sit in silence with Aleister, enjoying the feeling of his aura while he was still around, but there was a heavy weight on his chest.

“Can I ask you something?” He cringed at how timid his voice sounded.

“If you like,” Aleister’s eyes were still on the rippling water.

He swallowed hard, “The first time I did the scrying spell, you saw it, right?”

“It…?”

“The king and his son, you saw them?”

Finally, Aleister looked at him, a curious glint in his gaze, “Yes.”

“Then you saw that…I don’t look like them.”

“Yes.”

Dream sighed, unsurprised. Aleister may have stopped using divination magic on Dream, but that didn’t make his eyes any less sharp. He looked at his hands, fiddling with one of the daisy stems.

“...Is that all you wanted to tell me?”

“No. It’s hard to talk about.”

Out of his peripheral, he saw Aleister cock his head in a questioning manner.

“It’s hard,” he repeated. “And I’ve never talked to anyone about it. I don’t trust anyone enough to-- _didn’t_ trust anyone enough.” He continued in a small voice, “I trust you. So is it alright if I…tell you about it?”

“Go on, Dream. Say what you need to say.”

He had Aleister’s full attention. He usually liked that. This time it made him anxious.

Dream didn’t grow up in the palace in Renaize. He grew up in a little spot on the outskirts of the city called Lower West Scalt. He always thought it was an ugly name for an equally ugly place. It was him and his mother, living in a little room above the inn she worked at. Though that inn may have been what she did for a living, what she put her heart into was healing magic. She had once served as a cleric in Ishtar’s temple, one among dozens of healers. It didn’t seem like she ever wanted to leave, or meant to.

“As you know, she had an affair with a certain married high ranking noble,” Dream explained to Aleister in a dry tone. “The queen didn’t love that when she found out. She pulled some strings and had my mother excommunicated.”

“Ishtar would be ashamed.”

“I think she might have been.”

Dream grew up holding no love for any gods or any devout followers, though his mother tried to teach him the opposite. The acts of corrupt officials didn’t reflect the will of the gods, she tried to reassure him.

_If that were true, then the gods would have saved us by now._

They weren’t suffering, exactly, not like others in Scalt were, but they were barely getting by. And then his mother got sick. And he got sick.

His mother was the only holy woman available to the lower class that couldn’t afford the trip to Renaize’s official temples. There were little shrines in Scalt here and there, but they were upheld by believers, not the ordained clergy. They were places to pray for healing, not to be healed. With his mother bedridden, the light of salvation for their community and their family was extinguished. At only thirteen years of age, he was going to die. Then the king’s men knocked on their door.

“I don’t know how she did it,” Dream mused. “Magically sending letters, perhaps? Hell if I know what she could even put in a letter that would convince them to take me with them. Maybe she lied and said I would have all these,” he added a little flourish of his hand, “magical powers that would make me of use. Or maybe he actually did love her. Or feel guilty at least.” He shrugged, “Doesn’t matter.”

All that mattered was he was suddenly lauded as the king’s adopted son. Everyone in the immediate family knew the truth, but they had a cover story. He was an only survivor of a village raid, rescued by the eldest prince. A lone survivor of “poverty” didn’t strike such a dramatic tone as “lawless desert bandits” did. Regardless, the king couldn’t _bear_ the idea of a child going with nothing because of the crown’s failure to protect their people. It was some heartfelt nonsense to that tune, hiding that the crown continued to fail its common people in a manner of different ways. He was a poster boy charity case. It was disgusting. It didn’t matter. The day he arrived at the palace (after he recovered during a short stay in Ishtar’s official temple) was the day he vowed to prove himself and his worth.

Beyond their cover story, the royal family wasn’t quite sure what to do with him or what to make of him. So they put him in school, the same schools that the other princes had gone through. He learned tactics, history, fencing, chivalry, anything from any book he could get his hands on, and he excelled at whatever he put his mind to. It was fine if people wanted to look at him and, at first sight, see an outsider, or a freeloader, but he would be damned if he didn’t make them see he was more than that. He was a prodigy.

There wasn’t much else he could do until he turned sixteen. He heard that once the other princes came of age, they were given proper duties to the kingdom, whether that be a post in the military, or being given an estate to overlook. All seven of them--eight then-- attended a council meeting with the king, his advisers, and high ranking church officials, in which he was told to sit quietly and listen. At the time it made sense, he was too young after all. So he sat in silence, waiting for his birthday, waiting for his opportunity.

The time came and went, and there was nothing. They didn’t have anything for him. There was no spot. He didn’t have a place, though he clambered desperately for one.

He tried so hard to be like his brothers, vying for acceptance in a world that would always scrutinize him for where he came from and what he looked like. It took three years, but it finally hit him. That validation he craved was never coming.

“I stopped caring. I had to,” he explained, fastening the ends of the flower chain in his lap. “I grew my hair out, started wearing whatever I wanted-- I started _doing_ whatever I wanted. I never gave up on proving my worth, but I was going to prove it as _myself.”_ Then with an annoyed huff of air, he lost his bravado, “The rest is history. All that’s left is to go home. They can’t deny me any longer.”

Both men were silent. Aleister’s eyes were on Dream, but Dream wasn’t looking up. He needed to sit with his raw feelings. He felt relieved, but there was indignant anger in the pit of his stomach. Then Aleister spoke up.

“Dream,” his voice was soft, gentle. “What about your mother?”

Looking up, Dream barked out a short, bitter laugh, “Oh, even in my soul-bearing, tell-all of the Tragedy of the Velveteen Dream, here I am trying to skip over it.” Smiling ruefully, he added, “And you saw through me.” He lowered his eyes, shaking his head, “She’s gone. And I’ve been stuck, for seven years, in a place that wants to write her out of history. I never,” his fists, resting on his knees, clenched, “mourned her properly. That’s what I’m,” that bitter laugh again, “supposed to be talking to you about, that’s the thing that’s hard to talk about.” He hesitated, “Even this is more than I’ve said about her to anyone.” He cleared his throat, shaking his head, “Can I ask you something extremely selfish?”

“I…suppose.”

“Tomorrow, after the ritual, I’m going home. But, tonight is the last night of the festival, and I,” shyness tried to snag his tongue, but he continued, “want to dance with you one more time before I go.”

A slow smile spread on Aleister’s face, “I would be honored.”

“One condition,” Dream held up one finger, then draped the circle of daisies over Aleister’s left horn. “You have to wear this.”

“...No.”

“I’ll make one for the other side, too, I wouldn’t have you go out lopsided in public.”

“Please don’t make me change my mind.”


	21. Chapter 21

Aleister was beginning to look uneasy about the whole night, so Dream didn’t push his daisy corsage idea too hard. He hoped he wasn’t overstepping, asking this of him. He tried to look at it instead from the viewpoint that Aleister owed him at least one pleasant night before he left.

He didn’t want to stay at the festival for very long. He wanted his one dance, that was all. As long as he got to spend the rest of the night with Aleister, he didn’t care what they did. He wanted to hold onto the feeling of Aleister’s aura and the sound of his voice for as long as he could, once they were separated. He wanted to take as much of Aleister with him as possible. He knew the feelings of being near him would eventually fade. He was already starting to forget what it felt like to kiss him. At least he would always have the necklace, now fastened around his wrist with wire, its clasp still broke.

He framed this as the last night, both out loud and in his head, but he was beginning to sour on the idea. He had to go home, there was no argument there. Even when the crown passed from his father to his eldest brother, a man far more liberal-minded than his predecessor, the Pantheon’s appointed officials would keep their grasp of fear on the people. As the king’s generation died out, some archaic ideas would go with them, but there would always be believers in the old ways. With his knowledge of and abilities in the arcane arts, Dream could usher in a new era of sorcerers, independent of the church. It would take time and subtlety- -Aleister was right in saying he could easily be put to death or imprisoned for heresy if he was too radical-- but he was young and he was clever.

Following the path he chose didn’t lock him into his country forever. He would have to spend _most_ of his time there, but the Wild was right on the country’s border. He could learn the teleportation spell. He could see Aleister again, even if his visits were few and far between.

As they rounded the library, arm in arm again, Dream stopped Aleister with a brush of his fingers across his wrist.

“This isn’t goodbye forever,” he promised. “Unless you want it to be.”

Curiosity glinted in Aleister’s eyes. He didn’t deny or accept the offer.

“If things go my way, I’ll be preoccupied, for a while,” he admitted. “But I can make time to see you-- I _will_ make time to see you.” With a warm smile, he quietly promised, “You’re not losing me.”

The sad, tired smile Aleister returned said he didn’t believe a word of it. He thought Dream was pitying him. He thought this was a consolation prize, an empty promise. He didn’t realize how much Dream wanted to see him again.

No matter how much reform the country went through, it was unlikely that, in their lifetime, Cineia would ever be in a place where a man who was read as a demon could live peacefully. That was doubly so for the capital, a place where humans didn’t even like each other for being different. Aleister couldn’t (and likely wouldn’t) take residence in Cineia all for the love of Dream. Dream couldn’t ask him to sacrifice his freedom. But cohabitation wasn’t the only way to keep a romantic relationship alive. If Aleister was willing to wait, apart from him, maybe they could make something long-distance work. It wasn’t unheard of, during times of war, for lovers to live apart, so why not for them?

Dream had to make Aleister understand he was serious.

With one gloved hand, he cupped Aleister’s cheek, feeling the other man’s breath hitch at his touch. It would be so easy to kiss him. He stroked his thumb down Aleister’s cheek, nearing his mouth. Surely Aleister knew by now. He knew what Dream was going to say, he had to.

Dream took a deep breath.

A soft, sickening thud stopped his words. Aleister’s eyes widened, mouth falling open as if to speak. Black liquid pooled at his lips, staining Dream’s white gloves. Moving as if in slow motion, he touched his forehead to Dream’s, letting out a strangled choking sound. Then he wheezed out one final, strained breath, spattering blood on Dream’s face before collapsing into him.

“What-- no.”

Panicked and breathless, he cradled Aleister against his chest, lowering him to the ground. A crossbow bolt was buried in the base of his neck. Dream faintly heard footsteps as his vision blurred.

“Sorry, Your Highness. The king was very explicit about what we should do if we saw you with any unsavory characters.”

Blinking away tears, Dream turned towards the sound of that smug voice.

Cineia’s “ambassadors” were standing clustered behind their leader, an infuriating little man by the name of Adam Cole. He had a cocky smile on his face, crossbow casually leaning on his shoulder. It was like he didn’t care that he shot a living, breathing creature. Aleister wasn’t even a person to him.

“Be a good little prince and come with us,” Adam was saying. Then with a devil-may-care shrug, he added, “Otherwise, who knows? In all the commotion my hand might slip.” He smirked at his friends, “Me and the boys don’t wanna deliver any damaged goods, but if that’s what it takes--”

_“I’ll kill you!”_

The only thing that stopped Dream from going for Cole’s throat with murderous intent was a light pressure on his arm. Aleister languidly grabbed at him, drawing his undivided attention. His lips were trembling, eyes glazed over. Dream could feel the weak grip on his wrist getting weaker. Then heat spread over his forearm, and in a flash of grey light, they were gone.

* * *

When Dream opened his eyes, the ambassadors were nowhere to be found, and his surroundings were entirely foreign. Wherever Aleister transported them, it was far. Night had fallen in Ashennore, but here the sun was still setting. He looked down at the man in his arms. Aleister’s eyes were closed, and he wasn’t moving.

Shaking, Dream pulled off his soiled glove, holding the back of his hand to Aleister’s face, hoping to feel at least a faint breath coming from his nose. Nothing but cold skin on a perfectly still face. He cursed loudly.

Staring at the bolt, he knew he wasn’t supposed to pull it out, but Aleister couldn’t breathe with it stuck in there. Tears blurring his eyes again, he also knew Aleister still might not be able to, even if he removed it. Looking back and forth between Aleister’s neck and the necklace wrapped around his wrist, Dream wondered, did he have anything to lose?

“Come on,” his panicked voice was hoarse as he clawed at the wire, tearing wildly at the chain. “Come on, come on, _come on.”_

It was on too tight. He wrenched at it, feeling it chafe against his skin, seeing specks of blood appear under the dying light. A helpless scream burned in his throat. Finally, he got it loose enough, yanking it off his wrist, skinning the entire top of his thumb. He threw it to the ground, along with his other glove. He put one hand over Aleister’s heart, grasping the bolt with the other. With a pained grunt, he wrested it from Aleister’s flesh, feeling bile rise at the horrible squelch it made. He hastily covered the wound. He had to work fast. The last thing he saw before he closed his eyes was blood spurting between the cracks of his fingers.

In his mind’s eye was the purple flame of his soul. He envisioned it engulfing Aleister’s body, stealing his pain, sewing up the hole in his throat. Then he saw it, Aleister’s aura. Every other time, it looked like an early morning mist, cloaking Aleister’s skin in pearly clouds. Now it looked dark, sickly, like smog trying to choke the life from him. The inky vapors flared around him, rejecting the violet touch of Dream’s magic, and then began to fade altogether.

_“You can only reach so far,”_ the words echoed in his head. _“Helping the unwilling is futile.”_

“No!” He snapped as if anyone could hear him. “You have to want this, Aleister!” His fingers dug into Aleister’s shirt. “You can’t give up!” Tears dripped onto his hand, and he whimpered, “Don’t give up on me.”

A smell that Dream couldn’t describe any clearer than “burning” filled the air. A long shadow loomed over Aleister’s body as Dream tried, again and again, to force his healing aura into it. He paid it no mind. He pictured Aleister’s soul and its dwindling light, and he grasped at it desperately. There was a shadow cast over that, too. Aleister was dying.

Dream was getting lightheaded. His body grew weak, the magic draining out of him. He gave one last violent shove, punctuated with a thrust of his hand on Aleister’s chest.

The sound of a sharp breath startled his eyes open.

His hand was drenched in Aleister’s blood, but when he cautiously lifted it, the hole was gone. There was no scar, only streaks of blood left as a reminder that the wound ever existed.

Dream collapsed against Aleister’s chest, bursting into tears. Holding him close, he felt his body growing warm again. He barely made it in time, and his own body was throbbing in pain from the effort, but Aleister was alive.


	22. Chapter 22

The air was frozen when Dream fell asleep. Only the steady warmth of Aleister’s body provided any source of comfort, as they laid on the hard, rocky ground. He woke up to overwhelming heat. His body was sticky with sweat, and his throat and mouth were dry as a bone. Opening his eyes stung. The sun was too bright, and his eyelids were gluey with sleep.

He forced himself upright, shedding the jackets he threw over himself and Aleister as blankets. Vision still murky, he grabbed vaguely at Aleister’s torso, shaking him.

He ignored the discomfort of his cottony tongue, mumbling, “Aleister, wake up.”

Aleister was still alive, but he wasn’t waking up.

Rubbing at his eyes, he gave Aleister’s body one final, futile shake.

“Where did you drop us?” He mumbled as though Aleister were listening.

Maybe he was listening. Dream knew healing magic could exhaust the target as much as the user, but that didn’t mean it put them to sleep, in the traditional sense. If Aleister was aware of his surroundings, and only unable to acknowledge them, he didn’t want him to feel alone or forgotten.

Dream snorted at the borderline embarrassing sentiment, then winced. Making that slight noise chafed against his sinuses.

Looking around, he assessed their conditions and whereabouts. They were both still covered in dried blood, mostly Aleister’s, although Dream’s left hand was sparsely speckled with his own. His thumb stung, raw from the necklace scraping the skin off. His hands were dirty from sleeping on the ground, but he still tried to brush the flecks of dirt away from the vulnerable spot on his hand.

His body didn’t feel ready to stand, but there was only so much scenery he could take in from the ground. He forced himself to his feet, grunting as his knees cracked. He was stiff all over, but his left leg took most of the damage, after sleeping on it all night.

They appeared to be on some kind of mountain. Miles of rusty rock surrounded them, with little greenery to speak of.

He grimaced, his bottom lip cracking and splitting open at the effort. From where he was standing, he couldn’t see how high up they were, or if there were any signs of civilization. He didn’t see any beaten paths. He would have to take a stroll to get a better idea of their surroundings, but he couldn’t leave Aleister alone.

Kneeling, he shuffled around the dusty ground for his necklace, finding it tucked under Aleister’s shoulder. With some difficulty, he tied it around his wrist. Once it was secured, he began drawing protective runes in the ground. As long as he didn’t lose track of where he left Aleister, it would be fine. He would be protected from whatever nightmares lurked in the mountains.

When he closed his eyes to imbue the runes with magic, there was nothing there. His light was gone.

“That’s not possible,” he croaked, opening his eyes and staring at his hand in horror.

Trying to quell his distress, he undid the chain around his wrist. His magic reserves were low, of course. Magic didn’t just vanish. It had to recharge, but it was still there. The meteoric iron was muffling those little licks of regenerating magic. That had to be it.

There was no change. The purple energy he was so used to seeing no longer danced at his fingertips.

He turned to Aleister, shutting his eyes. He could still see with his third eye, at least. Better still, he could see Aleister’s faint, but healthily greyish aura. He wasn’t completely mundane. If he could still see magic, he was still connected to it. It didn’t make his current situation much better, but it gave him some long-term relief.

The heat was unbearable. He sluggishly unbuttoned his shirt, leaving it tucked in, but exposing as much skin as possible. Rolling up his sleeves, he eyed Aleister. He didn’t think tieflings could get overheated, but he didn’t want to find out by letting Aleister die from heatstroke. One near-death experience was enough, he decided, as he undid a few of Aleister’s buttons.

Tugging up his left pant leg, he was silently grateful that he hadn’t grown up as a prince, pampered by safety. Living in Scalt, he always kept a knife visible at his belt, serving as both a warning and a weapon. When he moved to Renaize, he strapped it to his right calf instead. When his eldest brother caught him doing it, he reassured him that the palace guards would make sure no one ever posed a threat to him but did admit that it wasn’t a bad idea. Dream never saw any reason to give up the habit.

Brandishing the dagger, he paced around the area, glancing back at Aleister’s body every so often, not wanting him out of his sight.

If there were any sentient life forms nearby, they weren’t showing themselves, and the only wildlife was vultures lazily circling in the sky. He wondered if they were waiting on hapless travelers like himself and Aleister. He didn’t see anything else they could be after. He gripped the knife tighter, even knowing they wouldn’t do any harm to him, and he, in turn, couldn’t do much to a bird with a dagger.

There were a few spots where the rocks sloped, revealing natural footholds, but only one that could be traversed by a conscious and unconscious man at the same time. Their choice was made for them.

Returning to Aleister’s side, he took a quick inventory. Before passing out, he shoved his earrings, bangles, and non-magical necklace into his jacket pocket. They would still have use. If they made it to a town or even ran into other better-prepared travelers, they would work as fast currency. Under normal circumstances, his jacket would, too, but the dirt and bloodstains canceled that out. He sighed, cutting the stiff fabric into strips, using them to tie Aleister’s forearms together loosely. Then he cut out the softer inner fabric of Aleister’s jacket, wrapping it around his battered left hand. He would have to leave the tattered remnants of cloth behind.

With a strained grunt, he lifted Aleister on his back. Each step was taxing, and even with the cushioning, his left hand ached under the weight of Aleister’s leg.

“You know they shot you in the throat, not the legs, right?” He panted. “I’m not saying you have to wake up, but you could at least walk on your own.”

Aleister didn’t have any good response to that, head limply hanging over Dream’s shoulder.

“You’re lucky I like you.”

The journey was rigorous. Dream’s muscles screamed in pain with each step he took. Aleister’s body, and its inhuman heat, pressed against his back was turning the skin under his shirt into a clammy mess. The only bright side was his mouth was gradually starting to produce saliva again. He wasn’t totally dehydrated, yet.

After what felt like hours of calculated, heavy steps, Dream found another relatively flat stretch of rock. He lowered himself to the ground, laying Aleister on his back. He laid on top of him for a second, chest heaving. His body felt heavy, unable to exert the energy it would take to lift Aleister’s arms up and roll off of him. He shifted his body around, trying to put as little weight on the other man as possible, without untangling from Aleister’s bound arms. He was truly afraid that if he got too far out of position, he would somehow lose the momentum he needed to lift him again. His mind was foggy, his body strung out. Whatever took the smallest amount of effort, he was going to do.

Sleepiness weighed at his eyelids. The discomfort of the heat, and the thought of what a compromising position he was in if Aleister woke up somehow, battled his body’s cry for sleep. He stayed in that flux for a while, before reluctantly opening his eyes.

Based on the sun’s position, the day was half over. He stretched his hand out, trying to summon up his magic in hopes that it had enough time to regenerate. Still nothing.

That feeling of dread in addition to being restricted by Aleister’s arms was making him panicky. He wiggled out of position, forcing himself to his feet. His legs were starting to cramp up. He started doing idle stretches. The waning health of his body was the only defense he and Aleister had against the elements. No pressure.

Looking up the mountain, he couldn’t properly judge how much area they covered in half a day. Looking in the direction they were headed wasn’t any help, either. Though they had been moving continuously, the uneven nature of the terrain made it impossible to gauge how much farther they had to go. He felt like crying again.

He sat cross-legged next to Aleister. He wasn’t ready to get back to walking yet, so he wasted a little time checking his breathing, his pulse, his temperature. He needed to remind himself that Aleister was alive. He traced his fingers down Aleister’s cheek. They were going to have a lot to talk about when he finally woke up.

Glancing at the sky, wondering if those vultures had given up on them, he gasped. Smoke was steadily rising somewhere further down the mountain.

Grabbing Aleister, Dream roughly pulled him into a sitting position, hitching him onto his back. He tried to stay calm. If he followed that surge of adrenaline he would burn himself out far sooner than he would reach the smoke.

The skies grew dark as they stumbled down the mountain. Dream set Aleister down again, trying not to grow frustrated. They were so close, but there was no sense in pushing through past sunset. Then he looked at Aleister’s face.

There were dark shadows under the sunken skin of his eyes. His lips were pale and dry, parted in small, ragged breaths.

Swearing under his breath, Dream pulled Aleister onto his back. If he could magically save Aleister from getting shot in the throat, but then let him die of thirst, he would have unlimited reasons to never forgive himself.

The moon was full above them, and they didn’t have much time. The meager light would have to do. They had to keep going. Aleister lost so much blood earlier, and more than a day had passed since either of them had anything to drink.

Dream was getting dizzy, but he refused to stop. He couldn’t. He stopped to catch his breath every now and then, but determination drove him to continue.

On the brink of collapse, and as the sun peaked over the horizon, they made it to the settlement. Dream almost immediately identified it upon sight.

He tilted his head, cheek brushing against Aleister’s face hanging over his shoulder, breathing,“So even you get homesick.”

A short, wide stone staircase led to the entrance of the monastery. The monks were already up and about at the early hour, a few younger ones prowling about the stairs. As Dream limped into view, he saw one of them point at him, an alarmed exchange going on between the three clustered at the entrance. They scampered up the stairs, only two of them returning, with an older boy.

“Help,” Dream barely managed to croak out, his legs screaming at him to give up the extra weight.

The three were talking at him as they helped pry Aleister off his back. None of their individual words registered in his feverish head, and he absently grunted acknowledgment at them. One of the younger boys helped steady him, as the other two propped Aleister up. Then the oldest boy’s words cut through Dream’s delirium, loud and clear.

“Get away. You’re not welcome here.” He let go of Aleister in favor of holding the other boys behind his back, protectively.

“What?” Dream rasped as he struggled to hold onto Aleister. “No, he was raised here, this-- _You have to help him.”_ Frenzied, he snapped, “He’s going to die!”

The boy’s eyes were full of anger, as he replied with a shaking voice, “No man bearing the mark of the Cloven is welcome within this temple.”

_Mark of what?_

The monk was pointing at Aleister’s bare chest. Dumbfounded, Dream stared at it. There was nothing different about Aleister’s tattoos from the last time he saw them. They were just tattoos.

Sore throat be damned, Dream was about to get into a screaming match with the little brat. Then the third of the younger monks returned, with a long-haired, bearded man in tow.

“What’s going on?” The man had a kind face, with a voice to match.

“F-Father Abbot,” the boy’s dwindling bravado fizzled out. “Servants of the archdevil have--”

The abbot walked by without acknowledging him, eyes locked on Aleister. He cupped Aleister’s face with his hands and then gave a low whistle.

“Getting into trouble again, huh?” He spoke so quietly that only Dream heard him. Then, addressing the children in a cheerful voice, commanded, “Go on, back to your chores.” Turning his attention to Aleister and Dream, he added, “Aleister Black is always welcome in my home, as are any of his friends.” He smiled, “Come with me.”


	23. Chapter 23

Kissing Aleister for the first time was one of the most joyous occasions in Dream’s recent and allover history. When it happened he felt complete. He would’ve been content to live in the perfect happiness of that moment for the rest of his life.

The feeling of being clean and fed after the ungodly experience of being stranded on the mountain almost compared, as did seeing Aleister lying safely in an infirmary bed.

The monastery’s leader, who introduced himself as Kassius Ohno, an old friend of Aleister’s, provided them with spare clean clothes. The tunics were drab for Dream’s taste, but after the blood and sweat-laden rags he was wearing, they felt like heaven.

The instant he was settled in, Dream demanded to be taken to the infirmary again.

All the other beds were empty, and the clerics were making themselves scarce. It was difficult not to notice their skittish avoidance. Word of Aleister’s alleged mark traveled fast.

Dream pulled back the robe Aleister was wearing, only enough to reveal his sternum. It was true, one of his tattoos was a circle with an arcane symbol on it, but he had plenty of those. With the idea that it was a pact mark in his head, looking a little closer, it did look more like it was pressed into his skin instead of drawn. It was like a scar retraced with ink. He folded the robe back over.

He sat quietly at Aleister’s side for the longest time, watching him breathe. It was hard to think there was a moment when he thought he would never see that again. His magic wasn’t restored properly, but if it was all to keep even a single breath more in Aleister’s body, he would learn to cope with the loss. Brushing a stray hair back from Aleister’s forehead, he wondered how long it would take _him_ to notice it was gone. He knew his abilities in magic didn’t have anything to do with Aleister’s love for him, but it was an intricate part of their relationship. It was what brought them together. He didn’t want to lose that bond.

His eyes were drawn to his own pact mark and he frowned. He didn’t have the chance to read over the geas that they left sitting on the table of the tower, but maybe there was a clause they could adjust in it to fix the problem.

As long as Aleister slept, it was a moot point. No one else had answers for him.

“I’m sorry,” he was compelled to say softly. “This is my fault. All of it.”

He didn’t think the admission would magically wake Aleister up, but the thought crossed his mind. Reaching out, he carefully traced the shapes of the tattoos on Aleister’s arm, starting at the shoulder and working his way down. Aleister didn’t stir at the feather-light touches.

“You know, I never liked those guys,” he spoke to fill the dead air, fingers still moving. “But this is a new low.” He scoffed, “I mean, I’d get it if they shot me. They hate me as much as I hate them. But you? What did you have to do with it?” His hand stopped at Aleister’s wrist, and he admitted in a small voice, “I guess this hurts about as much as anything they could have done to me.”

Aleister was still and silent, his breathing faint but steady.

“Hey, come on, you know I hate it when I talk and you don’t listen,” Dream joked shakily.

Nothing.

He rested his chin on Aleister’s arm, gently petting the top of his hand, “You better wake up soon. I don’t like this silent treatment.” He turned Aleister’s hand over, nuzzling his palm, “Just let me hear your voice again, alright? You have such a gentle voice.”

The next few days continued in a similar fashion. He slept in an empty infirmary bed, and sat by Aleister’s side, only leaving for essentials in short bursts of time. The monks were still avoiding the two of them, so he figured no one was paying close enough attention to care. Then a gentle touch on the shoulder roused him from an accidental nap.

He pulled himself off Aleister’s arm, squinting up at the intruder.

Kassius smiled at him, “You know, there’s a town at the base of the mountain that we get supplies from every month. I’m taking some of the trainees with me and we could use an extra pair of hands to load up the wagon.”

Dream’s eyes wandered back to Aleister’s face, “Thanks, but no thanks. I don’t want him waking up alone.”

With a little sigh, Kassius sat beside him, “Listen, I’ve known Aleister a long time, and I mean a _long_ time. He’s really not the kind of person who likes getting fussed over.”

Dream chortled, “So he’s always been a recluse?”

“He does like his alone time.”

Dream lightly touched Aleister’s cheek with the backs of his fingers. Aleister wouldn’t scold him for hovering, but he might get embarrassed over it. He could see Aleister getting all ruffled, and insisting that this was “not necessary.” He smiled ruefully. At this point he wouldn’t mind getting lectured by Aleister, nor would he mind flustering him. As things stood, neither was going to happen anytime soon.

Unwinding the necklace from his wrist, he carefully secured it around Aleister’s. He wouldn’t miss it, without his magic, and Aleister would know right away that he was still with him.

* * *

Further down the mountain was a small dwarven town that functioned primarily as a trading post. The monastery was self-sufficient, as far as growing their own food went. The supply trips were for things like medical supplies and soaps. Plus, it was a treat for the younger trainees, a reward for good behavior.

“The old Abbot didn’t like the idea,” Kassius explained as he and Dream perused spices, “but they’re kids! Learning discipline doesn’t mean they can’t have fun.”

_The old Abbot?_ “So you weren’t the abbot when Aleister trained here?”

“Me? Hell no,” he laughed. “I took over three years ago.”

Dream had noted he seemed a little young to be in charge of a monastery.

“But,” he pressed, “you knew him when he was a kid, right?” Unable to control his curiosity, he asked, “What was he like?”

“Mm. Angry,” Kassius responded between exchanging words in dwarven with a shop keeper. “But diligent. And quiet. I could never tell if he wanted to be there or not, but he always gave his all in training.” Another short laugh, “Kid could throw a nasty strike from any part of his body. Kind of a pity that he,” he trailed off, then lamely finished, “changed passions in life.”

“He broke my nose with his elbow on reflex, if that makes you feel any better,” Dream consoled sardonically.

“You know what? It kind of does.”

Moving onto the next shop, Dream pushed a little further, “So when you say changed passions in life--”

Kassius put a hand up, cutting him off, “I don’t have any details for you.” He sighed through his nose, lowering his hand, “All I know is he left on some pretty bad terms.”

Thinking about the mark on Aleister’s chest, and the reaction from the students, Dream murmured, “I can imagine.” Then something struck him, “A while back, he told me there was a temple in the Highlands that he thought of as a home.” He eyed Kassius suspiciously, wondering if he was as cagey as Aleister, “Not much of a welcome party if you ask me.”

“Yeah,” he dragged the word out. “Aleister is, how do I put this, a polarizing person? Some of his lifestyle choices don’t mesh with the Order of the Crystal Eye.” A conflicted look crossed his face, and then he lowered his voice, “A few years back he…tried to make amends with the last abbot. He refused to see him, didn’t even let him inside. I was already set up to take over the monastery, so,” he shrugged, “I promised him I would keep a place for him here if he ever wanted to come back. I wanted him to know he could still think of this place as a home. I wrote to him in Ashennore when the abbot passed. Never heard back.” He shook his head with a rueful smile, “Well, if he’s here, I guess he got the message.”

Silence hung heavily in the air. Dream was glad he had another piece to the living puzzle that was Aleister Black, but finding it out from someone besides the man himself felt wrong.

Quietly, he spoke up, “I shouldn’t have asked.”

“I shouldn’t have told you,” Kassius admitted, sounding nervous. “Let’s keep it between us, okay?”

Dream nodded, not looking at him. They continued their shopping in awkward silence for a while. After all, this man was a stranger, and Dream had little in common with him beyond a mutual tie to Aleister. He didn’t want to needle him for information about Aleister all day, and neither did he want to talk his ear off about what Aleister had been up to recently. They both knew the man enjoyed his privacy. So Dream scrabbled for a topic in his head, but came up blank. The only thing on his mind was Aleister.

“Hey, um,” Kassius spoke up, sounding unsure of himself. “Is he…going to be okay?”

Startled, Dream looked at him, “What do you mean? Your clerics are the ones looking after him.”

Kassius’s face mirrored his surprise, “They haven’t told you…?” He frowned, “They can’t find anything wrong with him. He’s not sick and he doesn’t have any external injuries. They’re keeping him hydrated and comfortable, but he still won’t wake up.”

Avoiding eye contact, pretending to be fixated on the textiles the next vendor was displaying, he faintly responded, “He’s recovering from a healing spell already. It’s going to take some time.” His throat was starting to close off as he tried to finish his explanation, “It was…really bad.”

“But you think he’s going to be okay?”

“He has to be.”

Then the conversation died and stayed dead.

As requested, he helped load the wagon up with supply trunks. He did his best to keep things organized, but he was having trouble focusing. He was stressed, stuck between his growing worry over Aleister and the noise of rowdy children running around.

Being the only other adult present, he should have been more alert. It was entirely his own fault when one of the trainees barreled into him from behind. A shocked yell at the impact was the angriest he managed to get in his response. Before he could lash out, something strange happened.

Black rose petals fluttered down around him. Dumbfounded, he reached out to touch one, but they drifted through his fingertips. An awed smile spread on his face.

“Whoa…what is that?” The kids started gathering around him.

With a grand flourish of his hands, he winked and replied, “Magic.”

* * *

As with all surges, Dream couldn’t immediately turn off the flower petals. He had to ride back to the monastery pretending like he was doing it on purpose the entire time. The trainees were endlessly entertained by it, more so when he very cautiously threw in a few other petal colors. He couldn’t turn the black petals off, but he could do some additional casting. Aleister’s reproachful expression lingered in his mind. Continuing to cast after a surge and without his limiter on was extremely reckless.

_Well then, you’ll have to wake up to scold me,_ he told the disappointed specter in his head.

Strolling into the infirmary with a renewed swagger, he perched himself on the chair at Aleister’s bedside, “Good news!” He lifted Aleister’s hand, unraveling the necklace from his wrist, “I will be needing this back.”

His mood plummeted. Aleister felt frail in his grasp. Dream told Kassius with as much confidence as he could muster that Aleister would recover, but it was hard to imagine something so weak and helpless could bounce back. It was hard to think of Aleister of all people as being weak.

With the restoration of his magic in mind, Dream wracked his brain for something, anything he could cast to improve Aleister’s condition. A spell was what got them into their situation, so why not try one to get them out?

His shoulders slumped, and he eased down to lean on the bed again. He needed to be patient. He had no other choice. After all the time he spent thinking as he watched Aleister lay unconscious, he had a creeping suspicion that he botched the healing spell. Topping that off with more miscalculated magic would only make things worse. He squeezed his eyes shut, burying his face in the sheets. He blindly felt for Aleister’s hand, craving a comforting touch, and willing to settle.

Over the past few days, he was understandably weepy and miserable. Getting out of the monastery for the day lightened things up, punctuated by the glee he felt at his magic returning. Then coming back into the infirmary, everything came crashing down around him, right back to where it was when he left.

There was a part of him that had been hoping for a miracle. He would have traded his soul all over again to have Aleister sitting up with that slow smile spreading across his face when Dream walked through the door. He didn’t know if there was any part of him left that a devil would want to trade for, but if there was…

Aleister’s hand twitched beneath Dream’s palm.

Dream bolted upright, eyes wide.

Aleister was looking at him, but there was a film over his eyes. He wasn’t awake. He slipped his hand from under Dream’s, lifting it only to let it weakly flop over. His fingers managed to catch Dream’s cheek, stroking it gently.

“A sunset should be jealous of your beauty,” his voice was husky and dazed.

Tears sprang to Dream’s eyes. He put his hand over Aleister’s, still lightly touching his face, and gave it a gentle squeeze.

“I know.” Choked up, he forced his words out, “Stop stalling and wake up already so you can fawn over me again, okay?”

Aleister feebly muttered an affirmation, then closed his eyes again. His hand went limp against Dream, who refused to let him go.

* * *

Two days passed and Aleister had yet to wake up. His condition improved, in a way. He was still unconscious, but there was life in him. He shifted and murmured, as was normal for people to do in their sleep. The change made Dream realize he hadn’t been asleep before, but comatose.

Sometimes he opened his eyes, but they were always foggy, unseeing. His sleep talking was never as clear as the first time. He wasn’t accepting food yet, either. Even with the improvements, he was looking weaker by the day. He was making progress, but it was incremental. There was no telling whether he would fully recover before the undernourishment got to him.

Then finally, _finally_ , it happened. As Dream waited at his side, Aleister woke up. His squinted eyes were tired, but they were clear. He sat up gingerly, rubbing his left temple with a little grumbling noise. He looked around the room, his mind muddled. For a second, the fear that his memory may have been affected struck Dream. There was no telling what kind of damage a botched healing spell could do. Aleister seemed to be struggling with identifying where they were, grasping at his memory of the monastery to no avail. He might have forgotten Dream altogether.

He laid eyes on Dream, and let out a sigh of relief. “Dream, I--”

Dream cut him off, throwing his arms around him, hugging him tightly. The tears were back again, but he didn’t bother stopping them. Aleister’s arms hesitantly wrapped around him. He felt bony in Dream’s embrace, but it was fine. Aleister was okay.

“Dream? I--” Aleister started again.

Dream released the hug in favor of grabbing Aleister by the shoulders, “Shh, hang on, just, um, let me talk, okay?”

Aleister blinked at him, then nodded.

Dream took a deep breath, “I’m in love with you, too. And I should have said something earlier, but when you told me I was so _angry,_ and then when we took that time apart, I started to think, maybe you were right, and that I had to go home--had to go back where I came from. But I don’t belong there. I belong with you, Aleister Black. The man I love.”

“...Do you really mean that?”

With a shaky, surprised laugh, Dream responded, “Of course I mean it, what kind of response is that?” _A very Aleister response._

“Sorry, my head is still, um,” Aleister’s cheeks were red, so regardless of how fuzzy his head was, the sentiments were impacting him fully. He drew Dream back into his arms, touching their foreheads together, “…I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Dream’s face was starting to hurt from smiling, as a bubbly laugh slipped out.

He rubbed at the back of Aleister’s neck, suddenly feeling shy. Aleister’s lips were so close. Their noses brushed together lightly. With a tilt of his chin, Aleister closed the distance between them with a small, chaste kiss.

After a moment of staring longingly into the other man’s eyes, something dawned on Dream, “Oh, sorry. You were trying to ask me something.”

“Ah, yes,” Aleister reluctantly released him. He touched his throat as he spoke, “I was shot. Right here. What exactly…happened?”

That made sense. Dream doubted Aleister even remembered casting the teleportation spell.

“I healed you. Or, tried to,” he corrected himself. “It worked in the end, but I think I messed something up.”

“Yes… You did,” Aleister’s voice was thoughtful, not accusatory.

Confused, Dream waited for him to explain with a furrowed brow. It didn’t seem like he was insulting Dream’s abilities for the sake of insulting them. If he was, he was reaching new levels of ungratefulness. He wasn’t. Probably.

“That wasn’t a healing spell you cast,” Aleister spoke with a hard look in his eye. “It was a resurrection spell.”


	24. Chapter 24

Dream never saw anyone eat with the gusto Aleister had after waking up from his coma. It seemed like every time Dream looked away, mass amounts of food disappeared off his tray. It made sense, after a full week of involuntary fasting. Still, it was worrying. He knew was starting to sound like a broken record, telling him to slow down. If he choked, Dream wasn’t sure he had enough magic in him to revive him again.

“Are you still in denial?” Aleister asked between mouthfuls.

“About?”

Swallowing, he replied, “The resurrection spell.”

They already had that conversation, however briefly, but Aleister wasn’t letting go.

“You weren’t dead, Aleister,” Dream reminded him.

“I was,” Aleister disagreed in his usual calm, clipped manner. “I saw death. There’s no doubt in my mind.”

“You were severely dehydrated, and in a coma,” Dream argued. “Of course you were having crazy hallucinations.”

Aleister cocked his head, eyes narrowed, “Why do you find it so hard to believe?”

“B-because,” he sputtered. “It’s not possible, I don’t have that power.”

Settling in the infirmary bed, arms crossed, Aleister watched him in silence. Uncomfortable, Dream started collecting the empty tray and utensils. He couldn’t hide much from Aleister, so with him looking at him like that, it was only a matter of time.

“Are you afraid of that power?”

With a frustrated sigh, Dream looked at the ceiling. His back was turned, but surely the tenseness of his shoulders was giving him away.

“I’m not scared of having power,” he asserted. “I’m,” he shoved the tray at an empty table, “ _concerned_ \--not scared--concerned about how it…works.”

“What do you mean?”

Returning to his seat by Aleister’s bed, he explained, “What little I know about necromancy, you know, in spite of you not teaching me, is this kind of spell,” he folded his hands, looking down, finishing quietly, “it doesn’t last forever.” Tears threatened his eyes again, “I don’t know if I’m subconsciously concentrating to keep it going or what, but I can’t shake the feeling that…” He couldn’t say it.

“That I could drop dead at any second?” It seemed so easy for Aleister to say it.

“Yeah,” he admitted, voice still lowered. “My magic was…gone after I did the spell. For days. After you said resurrection spell, I got to thinking, and what if it was gone because I was powering that spell the entire time? And now I’m not?” He reached for Aleister’s hand, “Then what happens?”

Aleister’s hand twisted beneath Dream’s, locking their fingers together with a comforting squeeze.

“First of all,” his tone was hardly as gentle as this gesture. “My not teaching you necromancy has nothing to do with my desire to do so. In-depth materials can be found only in necropolises, of which Ashennore does not have. Second, you’re thinking of reanimation spells. You didn’t reanimate me, you resurrected me.”

“You have a terrible bedside manner,” Dream commented, playing with Aleister’s fingers.

“I did not realize worried sick counted as a real sickness?”

“Very funny,” Dream lifted their coupled hands, kissing the back of Aleister’s. “So where does that leave us?”

“You aren’t wrong in worrying about side effects,” he validated. “You must have done something to my soul to keep it alive. I don’t know what kind of drawbacks that could have, but,” he squeezed Dream’s hand again, “I am not going anywhere.”

“You better not,” he smiled. Then he switched gears, back to business, “Is there a way to find out?”

“I have some ideas.”

Dream held up one hand, stopping him, “Ideas or hypotheses?”

“...Hypotheses.”

“And I’m out,” he shook his head. “I’m not doing any magical experiments on you until you’re physically well again.”

“That’s…reasonable.”

* * *

While Dream balked at doing anything magically related to Aleister, he took no issue with getting physically related. With only being malnourished as a rapidly clearing up symptom, the clerics were more than happy to release the two. Kassius backed up his promise of having a spare room for Aleister. He offered one to Dream, and was met with a laugh of disdain. Dream wasn’t letting Aleister out of his sight. He reassured him that, no matter the size of the bed, it would fit the two of them.

He was careful not to get too rough, keeping his body weight off Aleister, as he kissed him. He also tried not to fret over the feeling of Aleister’s ribs when he ran his hands up his sides. They weren’t as bad as he thought they might be, but they were still a little too prominent.

Aleister groaned into the kiss as Dream’s hand wandered down to his crotch, massaging him through his clothes, tracing the outline of his cock. Dream turned his attention to Aleister’s neck, mouthing at it, listening to the shuddering sighs falling in rhythm with each stroke of his hand.

“You know,” he murmured, nipping at Aleister’s skin. “I didn’t get to properly go down on you last time.”

_“Mm,”_ Aleister tilted his head into the gentle scrape of Dream’s teeth. “Be my guest.”

“I don’t know, did we break that habit of yours?” Dream dragged his tongue up to Aleister’s earlobe, kissing it. “I can’t pin your hands this time.”

Aleister nudged him away with little prods of his head, until they were face to face, and, with a dangerous flash in his eye, challenged, “You’ll have to get creative.”

Dream licked his lips, a smirk spreading on his face, “You know the Dream loves a challenge.”

The leather of his belt was too hard, and if he left bruises on Aleister, no matter how consensual they were, while he was still in recovery mode, he would feel guilty. Granted, a stiff breeze could threaten to bruise him, for all Dream knew, but he wanted to be cautious. He pulled the soft, cottony tunic over Aleister’s head, shuffling the garment around his wrists until he could tie them properly to the headboard. He left it loose enough that, should Aleister really start straining, it would let him go instead of leave marks. In the future, he absolutely wanted to leave marks on Aleister, but it wasn’t the right time.

Dream stripped off Aleister’s remaining clothes and sat back to admire his handiwork. Aleister looked good tied up. Better yet, his body looked a lot healthier than he felt.

Taking hold of Aleister’s chin, Dream tilted his face up and let him know, “This is a good look for you.”

He kissed the expectantly waiting lips, resting his hand at Aleister’s hip. He was in no hurry. He hoped Aleister realized that giving up control meant he was going to get teased to hell and back. Or until he begged. Whichever came first.

With each slow, steamy kiss, Dream’s hand slid further down. He rubbed Aleister’s inner thigh with his thumb, enjoying the way the other man’s breath caught against his lips. He grazed his knuckles down the sensitive spot. Pulling away from the kiss, he silently reveled in the way Aleister’s chin tried to follow him, a little noise from the back of his throat denoting his displeasure.

Dream kissed the base of his throat, lips skimming over his brand. His fingers traced down his sides, nudging lightly at the back of his hips until Aleister arched for him. Lingering at his abs, he slipped a hand underneath the other man, following the curve of his spine, settling on the small of his back, where his tail met his torso. He hooked Aleister’s right leg over his shoulder, feeling up his inner thigh. He could feel Aleister freeze in anticipation. His right hand was resting at the erogenous zone on his back but hadn’t done anything. Dream chuckled softly, the air breezing over Aleister’s stomach making him squirm. With his middle and ring finger, he lightly drew lines right above Aleister’s tail, before withdrawing, focusing his attention on his thighs.

Aleister _growled_. Not an annoyed groan, but a feral snarl.

Delighted, Dream beamed at him, “And what are you going to do about it, Aleister?”

Not breaking eye contact, he kissed a path up Aleister’s inner thigh, peppering in gentle scrapes of his teeth. He played with him in a similar manner for a few moments longer, before letting Aleister’s legs down. Through all the playful provocation, Aleister responded accordingly, tensing and panting, not trying to keep quiet. Dream decided to reward him.

With only the barest additional stimulation, he hardened in Dream’s grasp. Dream flattened his tongue against the base of his cock, dragging it up the underside to the tip. Spurred by the gratified sigh he got from it, he repeated the motion, stopping to rub where the head met the shaft. Aleister’s breath caught, then exhaled in a shaky moan. Liking that response even more, Dream zeroed in on the spot, still stroking him sparingly with the tips of his fingers.

Aleister’s eyes fell shut at some point. His brow knitted together as he struggled with all the stimulation. Wrapping his lips around the head, Dream snuck his hand behind his back. Aleister’s legs stiffened, bracing against the bed when Dream started sucking him, massaging the sensitive part of his back. He was trying so hard not to buck his hips, Dream could tell. His body was shaking as he held back, and he was biting his lip again.

Hand still moving, Dream pulled back with one last flick of his tongue, “You wanna fuck my mouth, Aleister?”

“Huh?” Aleister’s eyes opened, startled.

Kissing the tip of his cock, he continued in a low, sultry voice, “Go ahead. Get rough with me. Try it.” With a longer, lingering kiss, he added, “Just make sure you moan my name nice and loud when you cum for me.”

No further words to exchange, he ducked his head, taking in as much of Aleister as he could in one go. He closed his eyes, listening to Aleister’s shaking breathing begin pitching a little higher. Finding his rhythm, he hummed intermittently, feeling Aleister twitch at each vibration. The other man was still staying maddeningly still, but he was starting to crack. Moving further down, Dream pulled Aleister into his throat and swallowed. The strangled groan and spasm of Aleister’s hips were so jarring, Dream thought he pushed him over the edge.

He pulled back for air, and to get an updated look at his work. Aleister’s body was heaving and his face was flushed.

“Don’t stop,” he whimpered in a shaking voice. “Dream.”

With Aleister begging and saying his name like that, there was no force in the universe that could make Dream stop.

This time, when Dream began bobbing his head, Aleister’s hips pushed up into him. He started slow and tentative, but as he reached his climax, his movements became frenzied and desperate. He came thrusting and moaning shamelessly, right down Dream’s throat.

Dream finished him off diligently, swallowing down every trace of his orgasm. He sat up, enjoying the sight of a spent but glowing Aleister collapsed against the sheets, struggling to catch his breath.

“That’s more like it,” Dream purred, crawling up to kiss his cheek. “But I’ll get a scream out of you yet, Aleister Black.”

“I know,” Aleister panted. Then with a breathless chuckle, “I’m looking forward to it.”

Dream untied him, checking his wrists for marks. With an inward sigh of relief to find them unscathed, he let them go. Then he sidled up next to Aleister, hugging him from behind and kissing his shoulder.

“Do you want me to…?” Aleister tilted his head, trying to look at Dream.

“Not in the shape you’re in,” Dream said between kisses. “We’ll just say that you owe me.”

Aleister’s mumble in response didn’t sound so convinced.

* * *

“Dream… _Dream,”_ Aleister moaned into his ear as he straddled his lap.

The way Aleister was grinding against Dream’s crotch as he thrust into his hand wasn’t easy to ignore. Dream sucked at Aleister’s collarbone and stroked his back, pretending not to notice.

Aleister’s gaze lingered on him after. Dream, still partially clothed, retrieved a washcloth and went to work cleaning off and helping redress his partner. The silence was awkward and Aleister’s eyes were burning holes in him.

“Dream,” Aleister spoke once he collected himself. “You’re hard. Let me take care of it.”

“No, it’s fine,” Dream deflected gently, nudging him over to make room for himself in bed.

“Hey,” he sat upright, frowning. “This is the third time you’ve done this.”

“You’re keeping track…?”

“I know you’re worried about my health, but I’m not made of glass,” Aleister chided. “I am perfectly capable of getting you off without collapsing into a pile of dust.”

“No, I know,” Dream mumbled, not looking at him.

This wasn’t a conversation he wanted to have. That didn’t impede Aleister’s prying. A heatwave blew over Dream’s face.

“Did you seriously just waste a spell on--”

He did. A mortified look crossed his face.

“You think I’m bad in bed.”

“I never said or thought that,” Dream defended himself.

Offended, Aleister retorted, “But you think I’m passive. And--and here’s something that you _have_ thought--you’re just biding your time until you can fuck me because you don’t think I _can_ get you off on my own.”

“Well, I,” Dream put his hands up in surrender. “Listen, when you told me I was the first man you slept with it was…easy to believe.”

Aleister shoved him lightly, then pointed at the headboard, “Sit.”

Dream wouldn’t admit it to him, but the scolding and commanding weren’t ruining his buzz. It wasn’t usually his thing, but he liked Aleister’s tone. He inched over and did as he was told.

“Please do not give the Dream a spite blow job, you have fangs and I--”

Aleister kissed him. It was a quick, chaste peck, meant to silence Dream in the kindest way possible. He planted his hands on Dream’s knees, locking eyes with him. Then he dipped his head to the side, shifting focus to Dream’s neck. He didn’t do much from there, nuzzling the skin and breathing against it, yet it was affecting Dream nonetheless. Dream was already turned on, to begin with, so he felt Aleister was getting a _bit_ of an unfair advantage, but he held his tongue.

His shoulders stiffened when Aleister’s sharp teeth traced up his jugular, followed by the tip of his tongue. Aleister’s hands slid up his thighs, bypassing where Dream _really_ wanted them, splaying their fingers over his abs. Lips lingering with every kiss, Aleister made his way from Dream’s collarbone up to his jaw. His hands crept up his pecs, thumbs grazing over his nipples, drawing a gasp.

“Oh, did you like that?” Aleister muttered into his ear, his icy tone making Dream melt.

Dream twisted his fingers up in the sheets, pleasured groans spilling out as Aleister continued kneading him, his mouth hot on his neck. It appeared Aleister had all intentions of drawing things out, which Dream deserved. Telling him he made his point wouldn’t get Dream anywhere. He had to sit and wait for Aleister to take mercy on him, his arousal straining against his pants.

Letting go, Aleister placed his hands on either side of Dream’s neck. He kissed him again, long and sultry this time. He plied at Dream’s bottom lip as he rubbed soothingly with his thumbs. Panting, Dream relented, opening his mouth, letting Aleister’s tongue flirt with his. Then Aleister pushed his tongue deeper, lightly stroking the roof of Dream’s mouth, pulling a muffled moan.

A few more drawn out kisses and delicate touches, and Dream hit his limit.

_“Mm--_ Aleister,” he breathed between kisses. “I get it-- Gods, I--” His shaking hands were drawn to Aleister’s hips. “Please.”

“Please?” Aleister repeated, amused. “Don’t like the taste of your own medicine, do you?”

He went back to kissing Dream, but yielded, undoing Dream’s belt buckle, helping him shimmy his pants down his hips. The air pulsated with magic and his touch became slick on Dream’s skin. Working the shaft, he slipped his free hand farther down, fondling every sensitive spot he could find. Each calculated move was maddeningly slow. He was giving Dream a nice, long while to reconsider his original assumptions.

“Aleister,” he whined, cut off by another kiss.

Once more, Aleister took pity on him, squeezing and stroking faster. He let Dream whimper incomprehensibly in his ear and grasp at his shoulders, with a dark chuckle. Then he ducked down, taking the head of Dream’s cock in his mouth.

Dream’s fingers found themselves entwined with Aleister’s hair and horns as his tongue worked him over. He climaxed with a sharp cry, hand clenching in Aleister’s dark locks. He faintly heard a grunt of pain through his fog of ecstasy. Arms shaking, he tried to detangle himself from Aleister’s head. When his eyes cleared, he was holding Aleister’s face. There was a trickle of white running from his mouth that had to be intentional. Dream wiped it off with his thumb, prodding Aleister’s lips until they parted. Their eyes stayed locked as Aleister’s tongue flickered out, taking in the last of Dream’s orgasm.

“Remind me to underestimate you more often,” Dream finally said breathlessly once he found his tongue.

Aleister made a disappointed tutting noise, but when Dream pulled him in for a kiss, two arms wrapped around him and refused to let go.


	25. Chapter 25

Cineia was a landlocked country. The Unresting Wild and Faethserin both lay between it and the closest ocean. Resigned to his fate in Renaize, Dream wistfully accepted the slim chance of ever laying eyes on it. He never imagined he would see it from the side _opposite_ his continent.

The first thing he saw when Aleister’s spell wore off was not the ocean, but ruins. It was a small, crumbling shrine. Slabs of rock littered the ground, suggesting a broken idol. Only a pedestal remained, its Abyssal runes obscured by time. Before the pedestal was a spell circle, glowing dimly beneath moss and rubble. The weak light faded as Aleister swayed in Dream’s arms.

“Easy,” Dream held him steady. “Who do you expect me to get directions from if you faint? The rocks?”

“I’m fine,” Aleister muttered unconvincingly.

Aleister was recovered physically in full but spiritually was another story. He felt out of touch with his magic, as Dream did after the resurrection spell. Dream resisted their trip to the ocean, initially, but Aleister asserted they needed to go. If there was anywhere that could heal him, it was Black Rock Cove, a place tied innately to his soul. Plus, Dream’s birthday only came once a year. He wanted Aleister to show him the ocean.

The two had a spotty history with sleeping outdoors but decided to chance it. The cove was safer than their last bout of “camping.” It was comfortably close to civilization in the form of the dwarven outpost, and they didn’t have to worry about the scorching highs and freezing lows of the mountains.

Dream’s favorite feature was the rumors of monster-infested waters and abandoned demonic ruins. There wouldn’t be another person within miles of them. He was starting to think Aleister was the one who started those tall tales to drive people away.

_“No, but I do encourage them when I have the chance.”_

In addition to the safer location, they were more prepared this time. They passed through the outpost before casting the spell and gathered the essentials. Sleeping under the stars was going to be far more pleasant when it wasn’t on the hard ground.

With one last reassurance from Aleister that they would remain undisturbed, they dropped their bags off under a beautiful willow tree overlooking the beach.

Dream was imagining a leisurely stroll down the sand, marveling at the way the ocean stretched on forever. A twitch of Aleister’s tail that Dream knew all too well informed him otherwise.

With no warning, Aleister stripped his shirt off and flung it aside, heading straight for the water. He tried to get Dream to follow, but Dream stiffly stood his ground, refusing to give in to the gentle tug of Aleister’s hand.

Arching an eyebrow at him, Aleister pointed out, “I thought you wanted to see the ocean.”

“See the ocean,” Dream repeated, then emphasized, “ _See_ the ocean. I don’t need to touch it or go in it, the Dream is perfectly happy to marvel at it from afar.”

“You’re scared of water?”

“Of course not,” he laughed it off. “I can’t swim, that’s all. Throughout my life I’ve seen one lake, a single time. Not many opportunities to learn.” He lifted Aleister’s hand and kissed his knuckles, “Go on. I’ll enjoy the view.”

Aleister lingered, on the fence, then gave Dream’s hand a squeeze before letting go, retreating to the water.

Dream didn’t pry into why Black Rock would fill in the cracks of Aleister’s soul. He would learn in time. Aleister would tell him. For the time being, it was enough to see him healthy and rejuvenated.

Every now and then he would disappear under the waves, but Dream could feel his presence, darting about. His aura had been different, since his revival. It wasn’t as hot, and when Dream looked with his third eye, it wasn’t as hazy. It was bright, like the sun streaming through thin clouds. His soul was different, but not incomplete, from what Dream parsed.

Trying to shake the feeling off, Dream edged over to the shoreline. He kicked his sandals off, touching the wet sand with his toes. It didn’t feel as bad as he thought it would. The water was even warm. Shuffling closer, he rolled up his pants and sat down, stretching his legs out.

Benign clouds threatened the sun from the horizon, but it was still shining boldly in the sky. He closed his eyes, feeling the rays on his skin, listening to the rhythm of the waves. The breeze was gentle, carrying the water up to his knees, then pulling it back. It was peaceful. Then something grabbed his ankle and he shrieked.

Aleister was crouched in front of him, hand resting on his leg and a devilish smirk on his face.

“Seriously?” He gaped at him, bristled. “That was evil! I can’t believe you’ve been evil this entire time I’ve known you!”

Aleister crawled up his body, chuckling softly, leaning in for a kiss. He was soaking wet, dripping seawater on Dream’s clothes.

“Oh, no,” Dream turned his head away, “You do not get to kiss the Dream after that stunt.”

Undaunted, Aleister kissed his pouting face, lips traveling down his jaw to his neck.

“I can’t believe you did that,” he grumbled.

“You’re no fun.”

“Oh, I know I did not just hear you lecture me about having fun.”

With one last kiss on the neck, Aleister hopped up, sauntering off. “Come on.”

“You’re such a jerk,” he muttered, shoving his sandals back on and rising to his feet to follow Aleister anyway.

Wringing his hair out, Aleister slid into his own shoes, then plucked his shirt off the ground, shaking out the sand. His diabolical smirk was gone. He was smiling serenely, and with his teeth for the first time since Dream knew him. Dream couldn’t stay mad at him when his heart was melting in his chest.

“I’ve never seen you smile this much,” Dream commented, falling into step beside him.

Aleister’s reply was soft, almost swallowed by the waves, “I’ve never been this happy before.”

“I didn’t realize the ocean meant that much to you,” Dream’s hand brushed Aleister’s. “You really love it here, don’t you?”

Aleister gave him a look that Dream couldn’t properly name the emotion behind it, “I wasn’t talking about the ocean.”

Dream’s face grew hot, and he couldn’t think of anything to say back to that. Instead, he wrapped his arm around Aleister’s waist, tucking him at his side.

“So has it been,” Aleister spoke up after a long span of quiet, “illuminating, seeing where I’ve come from?”

It sounded like he was getting at something.

“Why do you ask?”

He fell silent again. His hand skimmed up Dream’s back, then down at his hip, mirroring Dream’s arm. Mindful of his horns, he touched his forehead to Dream’s temple.

“You do not know much of my past,” he said, words brushing over Dream’s jaw. “But you will. Soon.”

Both men slowed to a stop. Dream turned his head enough to meet Aleister’s eyes. Then Aleister’s eyes dropped, lashes lowered. His head bowed slightly. The only thing Dream could do was wait.

“I need you to promise me nothing will change between us.”

Dream frowned, “Of course.”

“Please say it,” his voice had fallen, weak.

Dream cupped his face with his hand, forcing him to look at him. Those eyes were full of fear.

Dream shook his head, replying emphatically, “I promise nothing will change between us. I love you.”

A relieved smile flickered on Aleister’s lips, but he maintained that air of uncertainty. Dream accentuated his point with a kiss. Nervous energy radiated off Aleister. Dream had his promise that he would find everything out soon. He could afford to change the subject. As long as it put Aleister at ease, he didn’t mind waiting.

“I never got that last dance,” he reminded Aleister in a quiet, teasing voice.

“And you want that on the sand, with no music,” he clarified.

“We’re two men who like a challenge, are we not?”

“If that’s what you want,” Aleister kissed him again, fingers stroking up his side. “Then, after, I have something I want to show you.”

* * *

Dream stared at the crooked dock leading to the lighthouse. Rocks that were too jagged for his taste lined it. Waves licked at the sides, dampening the wood. It wasn’t actively rotting anywhere, but that did little to reassure him. He held on tightly to Aleister’s arm as he was escorted across. The closer they got to the lighthouse, the safer he felt. Then water surged over the dock, threatening to knock Dream off his feet. It wasn’t the fear that made him shout, but the icy shock of the ocean. The fear did make him grab onto Aleister tight enough to earn him a pained grunt, though.

“You’re safe, it’s alright,” Aleister soothed, keeping an iron grip at his waist. “Almost there.”

“Ugh,” Dream wilted against him the second they made it to the platform. “You’re carrying me back.”

Aleister kissed his temple in response.

“And what about this were you so keen to show the Dream?”

“A piece of my past,” Aleister let go of him, running his fingers over the black stone of the lighthouse. “Tell me, have you learned anything new about me, being here?”

Dream bit his lip. He dodged that question the last time.

“I spoke to Kassius, a little,” he confessed. “I asked what you were like as a child.”

“And?” Aleister’s eyes were glued on the rock.

Dream ambled closer, “He said you were angry. Quiet. Dedicated. Focused.” He brushed his hand over Aleister’s shoulder, “Not much has changed, it seems.”

“I am not angry,” Aleister gazed up the length of the lighthouse. “Not in the same way.” He traced the cracks in the wall, “I could not connect to the world around me, nor understand it, and so I resented it.” He splayed his fingers out, “As I have grown, I have come to learn that this world is a miserable, yet wonderful place, full of tragedy and beauty. Though legitimate scum inhabit these lands, there are people and things worth loving and protecting. But at the time, my worldview was small. I felt as though I had no one.”

Dream ran his fingers down Aleister’s back, drawing soothing circles.

“I did not come to the Maiddosa Highlands of my own accord. I was young, barely forming full sentences. Though I have memories of my homeland and my parents, they are few. The old Abbot was my father figure.” His face twisted in distaste, “He was a strict old man, stuck in his ways. We did not understand each other.”

Stepping away from the wall, Aleister gestured for Dream to follow him. They paced around the lighthouse until they stopped at the door, rusting and broken. It took a solid shove, but Aleister managed to push it open.

The sun had not yet begun setting, but the inside of the lighthouse was dark. With a flourish, Aleister conjured light in his hands, brightening the building.

Dream blinked. The shadows were playing tricks on his eyes. The light seemed like it had a lavender tint to it.

The interior, lined with metal, was in as poor shape as the door. The winding stairs were rotted from the humidity. Moss and fungus spattered the walls. It smelled musty, but the occasional breeze over the ocean and through the broken windows provided a touch of relief.

“Oh, this place hasn’t changed a bit,” Aleister muttered under his breath.

“So it’s always been this way?” Dream stepped inside cautiously, trying not to touch anything.

“Yes, this lighthouse has been long abandoned,” Aleister’s voice echoed in the chamber. “When I was thirteen, I tried to run away. It was no fault of the monastery, but rather my own inner turmoil that drove me away. I felt trapped. We made a rare journey to the outpost, and I snuck off. No plan. 

“Though I didn’t know where I was going, I knew where I ended up. Black Rock Cove, as you know, was and has always been rumored as a breeding ground for devils and ghosts. This lighthouse was no exception.” He sighed, “I had no intentions of staying, once I realized where I was, but as luck would have it, a horrible storm was sweeping across the land, heading for the coast, and I walked right into it. Perhaps I catastrophized it in my child’s mind, but I remember seeing uprooted trees and lightning striking the earth.” A joyless, breathy laugh. “I’m sure it was just a thunderstorm.”

He stopped at one of the windows. He touched a bit of the remaining glass still clinging to its frame, avoiding the jagged edge.

“All I could think was “shelter, shelter, shelter.” Gods only know why I would try to outrun a storm into the ocean. Somehow my feet took me here. I knew the rumors, and they, of course, gave me pause.” He pulled his hand away, “I was stuck between the oncoming storm and whatever hellishness laid sleeping in this building.” Cracking a bitter smile, he shrugged, “I was never afraid to die, but I wanted to go out on my own terms. I didn’t want to cower in fear, I wanted to die on my feet. There was nothing I could do about the storm, but I decided to take my chances against devils.”

The casual way he addressed death made Dream uneasy.

“I burst through the door, thinking if this is the end, let it look me in the eye.” He shook his head, “It was empty. I had so much adrenaline that I still ended up having a bit of an episode, but I came out relatively unscathed. A little scarring from the windows breaking, but that was the extent of it. I think I took more of a beating in training when they dragged me back to the monastery. The Abbot was furious.” He stared out the window a little longer, then turned to Dream, “The point of this odd little tale of mine is that it exemplifies who I was in my youth. I was angry and brazen, controlled by fear. Fear has guided me to make many, many foolish decisions in my life.”

He unbuttoned his shirt and held the light close to his chest. His pact mark glared at Dream.

Dream had stood frozen for the entire story, not wanting to break Aleister’s concentration. He wasn’t quite sure why. When he saw the brand, he remembered to breathe again. He approached Aleister, eyes glued on his chest.

“Velveteen Dream, there is a darkness in my soul and I--”

Dream laid his hand over the mark and silenced him with a kiss.

“And you’re afraid of the light,” Dream murmured against Aleister’s lips.

“I…” Aleister was mystified. “What are you talking about?”

“I think you’re afraid of being happy. How were you going to end that, Aleister? There’s a darkness in your soul and I should run before it consumes me?” He flashed a smile, “I think we both know my light will blind you before any darkness can touch me.”

Aleister stroked Dream’s chin with his free hand, but his words were anything but tender, “And I think you’re making a mistake. There is a devil on my back that no mortal should dare tangle with.” His lips almost touched Dream’s, then he shook his head, “Yet here you are, willingly tangled, with me.”

Slinging his arms around Aleister’s neck, with a self-satisfied smile, Dream asked, “And, what, Aleister, did you think dragging me to this spooky lighthouse was going to scare me off?” He nuzzled against the other man’s nose, “Or maybe you’re just angling for another reassurance?”

“You might know me better than I give you credit for.”

“Yes, well, once you crack the cover, you’re a pretty easy read,” Dream winked. “For me, anyway. I am a once in a lifetime talent.”

They stayed in the lighthouse for a while longer, exchanging kisses until the light in Aleister’s hand flickered out. With a final peck on the lips, Dream drew him out into the daylight.


	26. Chapter 26

Barefoot, Aleister circled the perimeter of the willow tree. Greyish gleaming wisps of magic flowed from his fingertips as he touched the branches, lighting up their leaves. They swayed in the faint breeze, resembling a wall of fireflies. The scattered lights danced with the static stars in the sky, allowing slivers of moonlight to paint stripes on each man’s skin.

Undressed, save for his pants, Dream sprawled on their bedrolls, watching Aleister. He was gradually adjusting to the new brightness and off-coloration of Aleister’s aura. It was still beautiful and seeing it juxtaposed with the night sky, it reminded Dream of an aurora.

“Do you remember what your magic looked like when you started?” Dream asked.

Aleister paused in his work, “It has always been the same.”

“Then the appearance of one’s spirit, it doesn’t change over time?”

“It…isn’t supposed to.”

The cadence of Aleister’s words clued Dream in. He noticed it too. He lifted his hand, looking at the pearly light curling around it. Then he closed it in a fist and the light faded.

“Are you worried?”

“Yes.”

Dream patted the bedroll beside him. Aleister looked over his shoulder at the sound.

“Come be worried over here.”

Aleister returned to sit cross-legged at his side. Rolling to his side, leaning on one elbow, Dream raised an eyebrow at him.

“What?”

“Not like that. Come here,” Dream wrapped his free arm around Aleister’s waist, hauling him down.

With little resistance, Aleister obeyed, reclining and unfolding his legs. He laid a hand on Dream’s sternum, thumb moving absently across his skin.

Arm still looped around the other man, Dream slipped his hand up Aleister’s shirt, rubbing his back. Aleister’s eyes fluttered shut. He tucked his head against Dream’s bicep. Then he started purring.

With a good-natured laugh, Dream asked, “I know you don’t like “beautiful,” but what about “cute?” Because this is extremely cute.”

Aleister stopped, opening one eye, “That is, legitimately, the first time anyone has ever called me that.”

“Really? Not even as a kid?”

“Especially not then,” Aleister closed his eye and resumed the little contented noise.

With a quiet “huh” under his breath, Dream dropped it. If Aleister wanted to talk, he would talk. Knowing that did nothing to stop the wistfulness straining at Dream’s heart. Loathe to dwell on unpleasant emotions in the romantic moment, he nuzzled against the top of Aleister’s head, mindful of his horns, inhaling the woodsy scent of his hair. He still smelled the same, even far away from home and using the monastery’s bare-bones toiletries. It was odd, but comforting, and possibly magic in nature. Dream didn’t have a chance to ask, distracted by the sneaking descent of Aleister’s hand down his torso.

Dream kissed his forehead, “So that’s what you’re into?”

The sound of his purr fading out, eyes now open, Aleister asked, “What?”

“Being out in the open. Where anyone could walk by.”

Hand stilled at Dream’s hip, he denied, “Of course not, that’s why I chose this place.” He pushed Dream over onto his back, sitting up to lean over him, “We’re all alone.”

A grin crept onto Dream’s lips. It was a nice view. Bent over, Aleister’s face was half-hidden by shadows, but he could see the lust flashing in his eyes. He didn’t have long to enjoy it, as Aleister ducked further down his body. Stroking Dream through his pants, Aleister pressed open-mouthed kisses on his stomach. Humming with satisfaction, Dream relaxed against the bedroll, one hand leisurely playing with Aleister’s hair.

Careful not to disrupt Aleister’s machinations, Dream felt around for his bag above his head. No matter his intentions, the sound of him rifling through the pocket gave Aleister pause, letting out a little questioning noise against Dream’s abs.

Producing a bottle, Dream explained, “Came prepared this time. The Dream has had enough of you wasting magic for lube.”

Aleister’s laugh tickled his stomach. “I’ve only done it twice.”

“Two times too many,” Dream affirmed. “You were supposed to be on magical bed rest _both_ times.”

“Are _you_ lecturing _me?”_

“Mm, I don’t know.” Dream winked, “Is it turning you on?”

In lieu of an answer, Aleister planted one last kiss below Dream’s bellybutton. Then he shrugged off his shirt, gesturing for Dream to pass the bottle. Sitting up, Dream handed it off with a kiss.

The contrast of the cold air and Aleister’s slick, warm grasp made Dream grunt. Aleister’s movements lacked his usual deft calculation. He wasn’t zeroing in on any sensitive spots or teasing. This was a man with a clear goal in mind, and far be it from Dream to delay him. Reaching around Aleister’s steadily working hands, Dream undid his belt, pulling his pants down to his knees. Covering his hand with lube, a slow smirk twisted his face. Maybe he wanted to delay a _little_. He did love a desperate man.

He pressed his fingers against Aleister, rubbing teasingly, not pushing inside, yet.

“Dream!” Aleister’s voice was saturated with impatience, surprising a laugh out of Dream.

“Oh, come on, that is _not_ how you say the Dream’s name.”

Aleister cupped his face with both hands, “You have to earn that.”

The flicker of Aleister’s tongue in his mouth was very persuasive. He pushed his middle finger in, circling and stretching. Aleister’s fingers twitched around Dream’s face. Dream pulled out to the tip, then plunged it in, to the second knuckle. Aleister’s breath caught, breaking the kiss and his concentration. Dream kissed his bottom lip, mouth trailing to his neck. He added in his ring finger, feeling for the way Aleister’s breath shuddered in his chest as he began fingering him in earnest.

“Dream, please,” he begged breathlessly.

“That’s better,” Dream purred.

In truth, Dream couldn’t wait any longer. He was uncomfortably hard and dripping with need. He took his hand back, giving Aleister the chance to wriggle the rest of the way out of his pants and kick them aside.

Fully naked, Aleister glanced sidelong at Dream, “How…do you want to…” He trailed off as Dream beckoned him with one finger.

Pulling Aleister onto his lap, he explained, “You should know, for future reference, the Dream likes it on top. However,” he absently pressed at the other man’s hips with his thumbs. “The moonlight looks good on you.”

The word that came to Dream’s mind was “divine,” but he imagined Aleister wouldn’t appreciate that. Still, the way the light hit his body cast a glowing outline around him, like a halo. There was no amount of unwelcoming tattoos or devilish genetics that could make him look anything but angelic. There was a solace in Aleister’s unholy presence that Dream had never found in any god, a comfort that prayer had never given him. He drew his fingers down Aleister’s thighs. Sacral, but still tangible.

He settled on the bedding, letting Aleister do with him as he wished.

Aleister took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. It was rare, to see him nervous. Dream gave his leg a comforting squeeze.

Sighs and muttered obscenities from both men mingled as Aleister took in the head of Dream’s cock. Easing back and forth to get used to the feeling, he didn’t take him in much further. His lashes were lowered, eyes closed in concentration. His lips parted, but the sounds he was making were getting stuck in his throat.

The heat of Aleister’s body wrapped around him was irresistible, but Dream held off. No good would come of rushing things. He relegated himself to tracing the tattoos on Aleister’s legs, all among murmurs of encouragement.

Then Aleister sunk further down, and the tenor of his voice changed, pitching higher. He froze momentarily, breathing in uneven gasps as his insides quivered. Then the air breezed out of him in a long sigh. His eyes opened, full of passion, as he started moving rhythmically over Dream’s cock. He laid a hand on the prince’s chest, appreciating each muscle as it traveled down his torso. Then his nails dug into Dream’s side as he gasped sharply.

His hand flew to his mouth, skimming over his lips before dropping. With each sway of his hips, his voice was rising. He kept biting his lip, faltering, fighting his first instinct.

Dream sat up, making the other man hiss as he unintentionally jostled him. He entwined his fingers with Aleister’s, keeping them from his mouth, and kissed his face.

With a fleeting smile, Aleister gripped his hands, bracing himself. He rode Dream slow, savoring the feeling of every throbbing inch. Satisfied, heated breaths breezed over Dream’s neck. Dream held his breath, trying to still his own hips. There was no verbal agreement or otherwise that he was going to sit and let Aleister work him all night, but it felt good, giving him full control. Contrary to Dream’s initial impression, Aleister very much knew what he was doing.

Then Aleister tightened around him, hips spasming, and he let out a cry between clenched teeth. Rocking back and forth desperately, he tried to hit the same spot, each impact forcing out a whimper. He was dripping wet, arousal apparent against Dream’s abs. As Dream reached out to relieve him, his hand was batted away. He pulled back from the curve of Aleister’s neck, an offended expression clouding his features. Then Aleister started talking.

“Don’t--” He sputtered, not missing a beat with his hips, grasping at Dream’s arms. “I--” Then, eyes glazed over with lust, tongue darting out to lick the corner of his mouth, he panted, “I want to cum on just your cock.”

Eyes and mouth agape, Dream seized Aleister’s hips, forcefully stilling them. Lifting him up, he planted him on his back. Holding open his weakly flailing legs, he thrust into him. Aleister’s lashes fluttered, his body twitching hungrily as Dream’s cock drove into it over and over.

“How do you expect me to stay calm and hold back when you say shit like that!” He hissed, kissing him roughly, unintentionally muffling the beautiful noises now flowing freely from his lover.

Dream held him in place with a bruising grip on his thighs. Aleister’s halo was gone, but he was still glowing, splayed out on the grass. His hands were draped above his head, nails digging into his palms. His chest heaved as he pushed back against each thrust of Dream’s hips. He looked just as exalted and divine, broken down by base animal instinct.

“Say my name, Aleister,” Dream breathed harshly against Aleister’s neck. “Say it.”

“Dream,” he mewled into his ear. “Velveteen…Dream-- _Fuck_ , there, come on, harder, _harder_ ,” his ragged stammering made it clear he wouldn’t last much longer.

Clawing at the ground, he cried out. His body arched, clenching as his climax spilled across his chest. Dream let out a hoarse moan as Aleister pulsated around him. He thrust desperately into the tight, quivering heat until his vision whited out, and it was over.

When the aftershocks finally ceased, and he was left with the pleasant thrum of afterglow, he pulled away. Aleister’s rigid body went limp as Dream carefully let his legs down. His head fell to the side, his breathing slowly evening out. Then he turned his sultry gaze to Dream, eyelids heavy.

Dream kissed his cheek, then scooped him up. There was enough life in Aleister left to squirm as Dream deposited him onto the bedroll. With a quiet laugh, Dream brushed the dirt from Aleister’s hair and horns, as the other man wearily dusted his hands off.

“Sorry,” Dream kissed his temple. “I’ll try to keep it in bed next time.” With a wicked grin, he added, “You didn’t think I was done with you, did you?”

With a tired chuckle and a shake of his head, Aleister pulled him in for a lingering kiss. With the lights still sparkling in the branches around them, their night was nowhere near over.


	27. Chapter 27

Sweeping the rubble and moss away, Aleister uncovered the spell circle in the ruins. The symbols etched into the ground were of the same script written across his knuckles.

“You’re sure you want to do this here in the haunted ruins and not, say, back safe at the tower?” Dream rubbed his arms, uneasiness radiating from every facet of his body language.

With a pained look, Aleister nodded. Dream knew that would be his answer. They couldn’t risk another teleportation spell so soon after their last, and they couldn’t put off seeing what damage had been done during the resurrection. Aleister had to keep correcting Dream about that. It wasn’t damage, it was change. There was no proof anything went wrong. He had yet to say it in a convincing way.

Aleister didn’t know enough about necromancy to gauge the success of a resurrection spell. Necromancers were rare. They were not as rare as wild mages, but they stayed clumped together in scattered places. A country seldom had more than one necropolis, if even that. The closest necropolis to Black Rock was to the east, in a friendly sounding place called the Snaketail Abyss. Aleister asserted that they would have to make the trip there eventually, but in the meantime, they would make do with what little knowledge they had.

Dream was familiar with Aleister’s spirit. He saw how it looked when he was dying, and he knew how it changed when he came back to life. If he was able to look into Aleister’s soul on a deeper, more intimate level, he would know if something was wrong.

Per Aleister’s detailed instructions, he would be casting a unique scrying spell. He was well aware of the spell, as Aleister had cast it on him almost immediately after meeting him, but he never imagined he would have to do it on his own. Aleister made it very clear that it was an advanced spell, but by the same token, that he believed Dream could do it. After he potentially fumbled the resurrection spell, Dream was less confident. It bothered him, feeling that uncertain in his abilities, but it couldn’t be helped. The repercussions of mismanaging another spell touching Aleister’s soul could have dire and terrifying consequences. He was psyching himself out, and they had only just arrived at the ruins.

“You’re nervous,” Aleister delicately held Dream’s face, forcing his attention away from the spell circle.

“Are you not?” He deflected.

Stroking Dream’s cheeks with his thumbs, Aleister parried in kind, “Not for the reasons you are.”

“Well,” Dream frowned. “You go first.”

It didn’t seem like Aleister planned on revealing any of his anxieties to Dream. For a second, it looked as though he would refuse.

“I do not know what you will see in there,” he confessed. “You will not have the same focus over this spell as I did. You might see…everything. That’s why,” his voice dropped off.

“I promised you nothing’s going to change,” Dream reminded him.

The implications of Aleister’s words dawned on him. From the start, if he wanted to, Aleister could have scrutinized every inch of his soul, every ugly flaw and wicked fracture. Yet, he didn’t. He knew it was a step too far. It wasn’t his place to pry so intimately inside of him. And if that was the case…

“Are you sure you want me to do this?” Dream asked cautiously. “If someone with more experience cast it, they could focus and protect your--”

Drawing his thumb over Dream’s lip, Aleister silenced him, “There is no one I would rather have do this than you.”

“What if I mess up?”

“Then we’ll fix it.” Then hesitance glinted in his eyes, “Before you begin, I should warn you. This spell cannot last forever. If you stay in another person’s soul for too long you may become…lost.”

That sounded bad. It was no time to be getting cold feet, but Aleister was tempting him.

“You’ll be fine,” Aleister hastily promised. “Don’t overstay your welcome, that’s all I’m asking. For your safety.”

He was going into unknown territory and Aleister was being completely unhelpful in keeping him calm.

“...When you cast the spell on me, what did you see?”

“It…was not the same as what you’re doing,” Aleister prefaced. “But it was like being in an empty room. Inside was a physical manifestation of your soul.” Fondness flickered in his eyes, “I remember your spirit was blindingly bright. I thought to myself, this is too much. If anyone with this kind of power had the intention to do harm, the results could be catastrophic.” He stroked Dream’s face again, “So I cast another spell. I had to know your intentions. I had to know, what was it all for? You gave up your soul for this, but did you do it for the right reasons?”

That was new. Dream knew Aleister looked at his soul, but he didn’t know about the secondary spell.

“Well…did I?”

Aleister’s face fell. His hands went limp and dropped. He lowered his eyes.

“Did any of us?”

Dream’s self-doubt and nerves were infecting Aleister. He touched his cheek but received no reaction.

“We all did what we had to.” He kissed him, but even that didn’t lift his gaze. “If I get lost, you find me, alright?”

Aleister gave the weakest, least convincing nod.

“Look at me.”

Aleister eyed him dolefully, but at least he was looking.

“Promise me, Aleister.”

After a long, tense silence, Aleister kissed him back.

“I promise.”

* * *

The void of Aleister’s soul looked remarkably similar to the ruins. Dream deduced it was was the shrine had once looked like, long ago. The ground was clear, and the five columns that circled it were upright, proper. Before one of the columns was a throne, seated opposite the pedestal where Dream assumed an idol once stood. Contrary to that assumption, the pedestal remained empty. There was no sign of the broken statue that littered the ground of the ruins in the real world.

There was no forest surrounding them, but an unsettling, inky nothingness. When Dream looked into the darkness, a creeping feeling of foreboding slithered up his back, wrapping icy claws around his throat. He dragged his gaze away, to the pedestal, but breathing remained difficult. The air was heavy. There was a dull ache in his ribs. Aleister didn’t need to warn him to leave as soon as he could. He had no interest in staying.

In the small space, it was impossible to overlook the physical manifestation of a soul, whatever that looked like. The void was just that: empty. Disquiet began choking him again as his head formed a new worst-case scenario. Aleister’s soul was gone, and the man who remained was no more than a corpse reanimated by memories and desperation. He was either in denial from the loss or he, too, had died and this was his patron’s torment of choice.

The spell circle thrummed. Dream cast a wary eye on it as it glowed the color of Aleister’s aura. Everything about it screamed “trap,” but there was nothing more he could do. He stepped onto it.

The pointedly empty pedestal was no more. A glowing orb floated above it, thrumming with the same sound as the circle. Dream barely had a chance to look at it. He could sense another presence in the void. It was behind him, whatever it was. The scent of iron and smoke filled the “room,” threatening to wrench the air from his lungs. His eyes watered as he took in short, uneven breaths, trying to stay calm. He turned around.

On the throne was a figure shrouded in thin smoke. At first glance, he thought it was Aleister. Then when he blinked, and the air cleared, he wondered how he could have been so wrong. Seated before him was a tall, slender tiefling, with dark red skin. He was clad in long, extravagant looking, black and scarlet robes. Two sets of horns curled from his long, dark hair. His hands were folded, brandishing claw-like nails. He was surveying Dream with lifeless, black eyes.

Breathing clipped and inefficient, Dream didn’t know what to do or say. The man was a thinly disguised devil, there was no question in his mind. His smell and his eyes were akin to Dream’s patron, but his aura was overwhelmingly stronger. Being in his presence was actively shutting Dream’s body down. His heart was racing and his lungs couldn’t keep up with his need for oxygen.

Then he got indignant. He didn’t need to be that scared. This was _his_ spell, and he could stop it whenever he wanted. This man was an intruder, and Dream could make him vanish with a snap of his fingers. The void wasn’t real, and neither was the devil. It was all a construct of Dream’s mind. Still, the situation was more curious than it was angering. He wouldn’t banish him, yet.

“Aleister didn’t say I would have company,” he spoke, once he found his tongue.

The stranger laughed, deep and throaty. He didn’t blink.

“So you are the princeling who has tainted our Aleister’s heart,” his voice was soft and smooth but held fathomless power with its quiet mystique. “The one who has ruined his soul.”

Dream drew himself up. It was only okay when Aleister called him that. It sounded wrong in another person’s voice. He didn’t like the implications this stranger was laying down, either.

“And who exactly are you?” Dream tried to play it off like he was entirely unimpressed with him, scowling and sizing him up.

“I am called many things,” he responded with an enigmatic air that gave Dream deja vu. “What you should know me as is Aleister’s patron.”

That shut Dream’s uppity nature down immediately. He remembered the dark shadow that loomed over him as he desperately tried to resuscitate Aleister. His patron had come to collect. No matter how calm the devil appeared to be, he couldn’t be thrilled with what Dream did.

Piqued again, he stood tall. All he did was delay the inevitable. Aleister would die, someday, and the devil would get his soul as per their agreement. There was no reason he should loiter about, bitter that he had to wait longer than expected.

With a foolhardy smirk, Dream replied, “Sorry, but I’m not done with Aleister yet. You’ll have to come back later.”

“You misunderstand, human,” the demon reassured. “I have no intention of taking Aleister home today. I am here for you.”

Taken aback, Dream’s smile dropped. He had a patron, though he knew little about it. He was pretty sure he couldn’t resell his soul, not yet at least. He wasn’t aware of anything else devils had any interest in taking. It was possible he wanted revenge for Dream “ruining” Aleister’s soul, whatever that meant.

“What do you want with me?” He tried and failed to keep the tremble out of his voice.

Fluidly rising to his feet, the devil strode past him, robes trailing across the floor, to stand opposite the pedestal. It was hard to tell exactly what he was looking at in the dark vacuum of his eyes, but Dream could safely assume it was the manifestation of Aleister’s soul. He laid a hand on it, fingers stroking it in a way that made Dream queasy. He held no reverence for the soul. It was merely an object, another belonging in his collection.

“I want you to understand who Aleister is, and what you have done to him.” He flattened his palm on the top of the orb, and it shattered.

_“No!”_ Dream reached out too late, his hand ineffectively brushing a fragment.

The void disappeared, replaced with a desert. The sound of hasty footsteps and mingled shouts were fading in the distance. A man was laying on the ground groaning in pain and covering his face. Blood leaked from between his fingers. Another solitary set of feet crunched through the sand. Dream didn’t feel the atmosphere change when the void disappeared, but he did feel the swell of heat he had fallen madly in love with.

“Aleister?”

Dream’s call fell on deaf ears, as Aleister walked right by him, kneeling at the man’s side. He glanced venomously in the direction of the retreated footsteps.

“Are you alright?” He tapped the man’s shoulder, seemingly uncomfortable with the act.

The bleeding man grumbled incomprehensibly.

“Let me see,” his voice was calm as he brusquely pulled the blood-covered hand off the man’s face.

Holding up two fingers of his right hand, Aleister summoned a healing mist at his fingertips. He soothed whatever it was that ailed the fallen man with a deft swipe over his face.

“Humans are this cruel even to their own?” He spoke rhetorically, voice overflowing with disdain.

The man uncovered his face, revealing brightly gleaming eyes, and a charmingly crooked grin. Dream’s confusion dissipated. He was witnessing one of Aleister’s memories.

“Who are you calling a human?” Ricochet shot back.

“Oh,” Aleister was visibly taken aback. “My apologies, I--” He cut himself off with a cringe. “I…left a scar. Sorry for…that as well.”

Ricochet touched his eyebrow with a good-natured laugh, “You know what? I think I’ll be okay. Thanks.” He shifted to sit upright, “Heading west?”

Aleister stiffened with a frown, rising to his feet, “I’ll be going now.”

“Whoa, easy,” Ricochet hopped up after him. “I’m just warning you, ‘cause you don’t seem like you’re from around here: if you don’t want to deal with “cruel humans,” don’t go any further south. In fact, go further north.”

“Into…the desert?”

“Yeah. Well, there’s a lot of bandits and monsters and the occasional sandstorm,” he listed off on his fingers, “but you’ll be okay, with a halfway decent guide.”

“I don’t have a-- Oh.” His expression darkened further, “No.”

Nonplussed, Ricochet echoed, “No? Look, I’m already headed west and I owe you one for this. I can watch your back, and we’ll call it even. Deal?”

The desert flickered away and was replaced with stark nothingness of the void, sending a jolt through Dream’s body.

Aleister’s soul was in pieces, drifting aimlessly in the air. The devil no longer stood beside the pedestal, but Dream knew he was there. He turned to the throne, wrestling with the devastation threatening to overtake him.

“Breathe, human,” the devil lounging on the throne sounded bored. “No further harm will come to Aleister’s soul.” He made a deliberate beckoning gesture, and one of the shards drifted into his delicate grasp. “These are memories intrinsic to Aleister’s identity. Though all souls are born a certain way, it is experience that shapes them.”

At the end of his rope, and knowing he had a time limit, Dream pleaded, “I just want to know his soul is safe.”

“Very well. Look as long as you’d like.” The devil waved the fragments away.

Aleister’s soul reassembled. Thrown off, and trying to stave off panic, Dream didn’t know where to start. It looked _different_ , that was all. He couldn’t tell if the change was good or bad. The whole ritual was a waste of time.

“It seems you are out of your depths,” the devil commented. “Allow me to assist you.”

He stood, flourishing his hand to conjure the image of another soul. Dream knew it was Aleister’s original soul, at first glance.

“It’s beautiful,” the devil spoke Dream’s mind. “Like fog over a mountain.” Then it vanished into grey wisps. “And now,” he scornfully looked at Aleister’s soul. “So bright. Such a gaudy color.”

Dream blinked. It shined brighter, he couldn’t disagree there. Gaudy was not the word he would use for the color. It reminded him of a wild hyacinth; not a misty grey anymore, but similarly understated.

“Do you recall casting the spell that brought you here?” Reading Dream’s suspicious silence correctly, he snapped his fingers, “Let us revisit.”

Illusory light swirled around Dream’s hands. He lifted them, inspecting his own aura. It lacked its usual saturated boldness. Its royal shade had been diminished to a weak lilac.

The devil seized his wrist, ignoring his startled jump, dragging his hand close to Aleister’s soul.

“To me,” his even tone belied the fury of his grip. “They look rather the same.”

He flung Dream’s hands away. The illusion dissipated. The devil cast his unblinking eyes on Dream. When Aleister said Dream was tangled with him, he meant it more literally than either man could have ever expected.

“Two souls merged and then re-split.” The coldness in his voice was unparalleled. “Two souls with two different masters.” He eased closer, hellfire radiating off of him, “Do you understand what you have done?”

Dream was too unnerved to do anything but stammer.

“You have shackled yourself to Aleister Black, against his will.” He closed his hands around the soul. “All I ask that you do is look, and understand what it is you have tethered your soul to.”

The devil opened his hands, revealing Aleister’s spellbook. Opening the cover, he offered it to Dream.

Dream could hear his own heartbeat. He was no longer certain he was safe in the void. Aleister had done some precautionary casting to protect his body in the real world, but Dream doubted it was anything that could stop a devil. He couldn’t refuse. There was no telling what the devil was capable of doing. He had no choice but to look. Hands trembling, he reached out and touched the grimoire.


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CW for child abuse in this chapter

A tiefling child stared at the cloudy night sky. The curve of his horns and the way his tail twitched was indisputably Aleister. Dream knew those eyes and that aura. He crouched beside the boy, smiling gently at him, though he knew he couldn’t be seen.

“Thought you said you weren’t cute as a kid.”

“And so love blinds you retroactively.”

Dream jumped at the sound of the devil’s voice, falling onto his backside unceremoniously. He glared up at the creature towering over him, but the set of cold black eyes were glued to Aleister.

“Why are you here?” He snapped, forgetting himself.

One look from the devil and Dream straightened up. He was dealing with a monster not to be trifled with. The only reason he was in Aleister’s memories at all was being too afraid to say no.

Other than the meaningful glance, the devil was unfazed. He strode past Dream, circling the Aleister. He absently touched the toddler’s head, ruffling his hair.

“Born to two human parents, in a small village southwest of Maiddosa,” he recited. “He was named after his grandfather, Tomas, but adopted the name Tommy at a young age. Rather boyish, don’t you think?” He smiled at Dream.

Dream scowled uncertainly. He didn’t know what the devil was trying to get out of him. Aleister changing his name was nothing shocking.

“Sure.”

The devil released Aleister, following his gaze to the sky, “As a child, he was always…strange.”

Muted voices echoed in Dream’s ears.

_“There’s something wrong with that...”_

_“...has such strange eyes.”_

_“Stay away from…”_

_“An evil lives inside…”_

_“...isn’t quite right.”_

Dream’s eyes darted around, but there was no one else there. It started snowing.

“He didn’t cry, even at birth,” the devil continued. “As though _these_ were not enough of an omen for the humans he grew up around,” he delicately touched Aleister’s horns. “Such a poor lot in life to draw, and yet he was one of the lucky ones. Infanticide is not uncommon when a tiefling is born to human parents.”

Inching to the side, Dream tried to get a better look at Aleister’s face. The devil may have had a point when he said Dream was being willfully blind. The boy had a stony look on his face, accented by wide and unblinking eyes. His wild hair was tangled with his horns. His clothes were dirty and disheveled, though no more than they would be on any child who had been playing outdoors. Still, adding up with everything else, he looked like a wild animal.

He raised his hand, fingers splayed out. Snowflakes dotted his skin, turning to water with a hiss and drizzling down his wrist. His mouth opened, its turned corners suggesting a grin.

Dream couldn’t help but smile in turn, no matter how off-putting the child’s general vibe was. Aleister’s mannerisms lingered from his youth. The tiniest drop of emotion bleeding through his blunted affect still looked like unbridled joy. Though his expression was muted, Dream could sense happiness in his heart.

“Perhaps he was not so lucky,” the devil mused.

The scene changed, and they were standing in a house. A blurred, shadowy figure threw Aleister against a wall, seizing him by the throat.

“Die, demon seed!” He snarled through gritted teeth as he choked the boy.

Dream covered his mouth, fighting off the urge to look away.

Based on the devil’s implications, the assailant was Aleister’s father. He was a normal human, not the sort of shadow demon that his appearance indicated. These were Aleister’s memories. They were fear warped recreations in a brain that was trying to blot out old pain.

“What are you doing?” A shrill panicked voice cried out. “What’s wrong with you?”

Aleister’s mother seized his father’s arm, dragging him off with impressive strength for her size. She looked like a normal human as she collected Aleister in her arms. He was wheezing, but alive.

“A devil lives in that child!” His father spat, frenzied. “I’m telling you, it’s cursed!”

“What’s wrong with you, she’s just a baby!” She snapped, before turning her tearful eyes on her child. “Tomasine, darling, say something, please.”

“...hurts…” His voice was a strained whisper.

As the memory blinked out of existence, Aleister’s mother was crying, but his eyes were dry.

* * *

Rubbing at his arms, Dream tried to chase away the mild chills he was developing. His body was going through a tremendous amount of stress from casting the spell alone. The actual act of being inside the void and seeing what he saw did him no favors. The emotional pain was turning physical. The dull pain in his ribs returned.

_“I need you to promise me nothing will change between us.”_

Dream glanced at the devil. He was trying the same cheap shock tactics Aleister had at the lighthouse. Eventually, they would both realize Dream’s stubbornness outweighed his fear. They were barely giving him anything to be afraid of. They would have to try harder, and even that wouldn’t be enough.

Coughing lightly, he addressed Aleister’s patron while wearing his bravest face, “Done yet?”

“Save your bravado, princeling, I can read your every emotion,” the devil dismissed him.

“Then you know this isn’t having the effect you want.”

He was startled and concerned, but he wasn’t running away with his tail between his legs.

“Isn’t it?” The devil’s eyes narrowed at him. “Do you not sympathize with him? After all, you are no stranger to pain, yourself.”

Dream coughed again, cutting off his response. The second he caught his breath and thought to lash out, he was engulfed in another coughing fit. His lips felt wet, and when he took his hand away from his mouth it was bloody. He squeezed his watering eyes shut, hacking, and wheezing.

Then he was in his bed, back in Scalt. The sheets were soaked in sweat and speckled with blood. His chills had become a full-blown fever. He swore his chest was going to collapse in on itself. His vision blurred with physiological tears as he tried to look around the room. He could only move so far before his body rejected his mind. He wasn’t in control. He was trapped in the motions of his memory.

“Is this the boy?” A gruff man’s voice cut through the din.

“Yes, this is--” Dream’s mother sounded weaker than he remembered.

The sheets were stripped away and a wet cloth was pressed into his hand, which was then forced against his mouth. He wiped at his eyes as he was lifted off the bed. His head turned in the direction of his mother’s voice. She was still bedridden. No one was coming to save her.

“Mama?” He didn’t recognize his own voice as it came out of his mouth.

“It’s okay, Patrick, you’re going to be okay,” she promised with a hoarse voice and a brave smile.

He weakly reached out his hand, and everything around him blurred. His hand grew smaller, no longer hanging in the air, but draped over a stone step. A boot was grinding it into the stair, and he could hear popping noises as his knuckles were crushed. The sickening crunch was outdone by the throbbing pain in his back from where he had hit the ground. He would later tell his mother he slipped on the steps. 

“Maybe next time you’ll think twice about talking back to a noble, huh?” Cole’s voice didn’t sound much different. “People like you don’t belong in Renaize.” He kicked him hard in the ribs. “Don’t let me ever catch you here again.”

To Dream’s credit, he didn’t cry until he made it home.

His vision flashed red. He was back in Aleister’s void, sprawled out on the spell circle. His body was perfectly safe, bones and skin unbroken, but the pain had yet to ebb away. In addition to all that, he felt nauseous. Waking up in Maiddosa the night after Aleister was shot was nothing in comparison.

“Had enough yet...Patrick?”

Horrible pressure throbbed in his head, shaking him down to his bones. He groaned and clutched at his temples. The sound of his old name was hammering nails into his brain. He forced himself to crack an eye open, knowing how weak he must look, but not ready to back down from the devil.

He was lounging on the throne. Aleister’s grimoire was gone, replaced with a book bound in purple velvet, a thirteen pointed star emblazoned on a square of silver webbing on the cover. Pearls adorned the corners of the silver filigree, an opal shining at the center of the star. The devil was skimming through silken pages, looking unimpressed.

“That’s not my name,” he barely breathed in response.

“Ah, so a no, then? Perhaps we shall revisit the black eye you got after kissing a boy for the first time?” He chuckled darkly, “I can do this as long as you’d like, Patrick, your soul, too, belongs to me.”

“What’s the point?” He groaned, teeth gritted as another wave of pain rattled his head. “What do you want from me?”

The devil shut his book with a decisive clap.

“I have already told you. To understand your sins, you must first understand Aleister.”

He stepped around Dream’s body, returning to the pedestal, where Aleister’s spellbook lay open. He handled the weathered pages delicately, in stark contrast to how he disinterestedly flipped through Dream’s.

Dream forced himself upright, ignoring the horrible creak in every muscle. He already understood plenty about Aleister, but he imagined the devil wouldn’t take his word for it. He didn’t know how long he had been in the void, but time was a resource he couldn’t afford to waste. There was no point in resisting, for the sake of time and for his well-being. Staggering to his feet, he looked the monster in the eye. He had to lean on the pedestal to stay upright, but he would be damned if he was going to lay limp on the ground and let the devil walk all over him.

“Then make me understand,” he challenged him.

The devil was taken aback by that. He blinked slowly. A shaky smirk spread on Dream’s face. Upper hand or not, he was gaining ground.

With another low chuckle, Aleister’s patron turned a few more pages. Not breaking eye contact, he laid the book flat and pushed it to Dream. Following suit, staring daggers into the dark matter of the creature’s eyes, Dream placed his hand on the page.

“Papa is very sick,” Aleister’s mother was telling him as she held his face in her hands. “I’m going to send you somewhere safe, so you don’t get sick, too.”

There was no unfeeling, wild expression on his face this time. He looked lost and sad. He didn’t fully understand, but he nodded anyway. He was young, but he wasn’t clueless.

“This isn’t goodbye forever,” she was forcing a smile as tears threatened to overcome her. “I’ll write to you every day, and when Papa gets better, we’ll come to get you, together.”

Despondent, he nodded again. Neither he nor his mother believed what she was saying, but they went through the motions anyway. She kissed his forehead and held him close.

* * *

Nothing had changed about Savras’ monastery over time. Without Aleister there as context, Dream would have thought they were there in the present. Aleister was no longer a toddler, but still young and sexless. Looking at his peers, he wasn’t the most inhuman one there, but he was the only tiefling. He had an unsettling way about him, even when he wasn’t pummeling a training dummy to pieces. After he kicked its head clean off, an older boy hurriedly pulled him away.

The boy who Dream could only assume was Kassius, chided, “Alright, Tommy, I think you made your point.”

Aleister gave him a dead-eyed look. He opened his mouth to speak, then thought better of it, and simply nodded.

It was impossible not to notice the way the other students shrank away from him. It was more difficult to tell if it affected Aleister. Stony and laconic as ever, he pulled up his hood and walked out.

This time when the devil snuck up on him, Dream didn’t jump.

“Come on, now, keep up,” he ushered Dream in the direction of the door.

Dream scowled at him but did as he was told. He tried to accept that a powerful entity such as the devil could and would talk down to him, but it was still grating. It had to be on purpose, too. The devil knew his soul, he knew how to get under his skin.

They followed Aleister down the hall. The monastery had a small library that Dream was tangentially aware of, but had never seen himself. It wasn’t much of a surprise that was where Aleister was headed.

He kept glancing over his shoulder as he slipped into the small room. At one point, it seemed like he was looking directly at Dream.

Dream froze in his tracks. It wasn’t possible. Right?

Aleister blinked at him, then closed the door.

“He can’t…?” Dream spoke in a hushed voice, uncertain.

“No. We are in a memory, not in the past.”

The devil snapped his fingers, phasing himself and Dream into the next room. Aleister was slipping out of his shoes. He stepped up to one of the shelves, looking up and taking a deep breath. Then he began to climb. When he got to the top, he pushed at the ceiling, searching for something.

“Any insights or are we just going to watch him break rules?” Dream eyed the devil.

Meanwhile, Aleister moved the panel aside, pulling out an old, arcane-looking book.

“Unlike yourself, someone who tried to hide where he came from,” the devil began.

“I _never--!”_ Dream snapped, turning furious eyes on the creature, who paid him no mind.

He talked over Dream, “Aleister wanted to explore his heritage, to understand what he was. The dormant dark magic that his blood gifted him was always...”

Dream wasn’t listening anymore. His face was hot, and he had to dig his nails into his palms to stop himself from doing something stupid. Not that he could do anything of significance. With his mother’s dying face so fresh in his mind, the devil’s comment set him right off. He never forgot where he came from or who he was. He never wanted to. The rest of the world around him wanted to erase that part of him. 

He took a deep breath. The devil was riling him up and it was working. He didn’t know why he was doing it, but he knew he couldn’t let it happen. He had to push the thought out of his head. He looked at the top of the bookshelf.

Aleister was reading out loud, in Infernal. He raised his right hand, two fingers extended, and completed the phrase. Four reddish orbs of light flickered into being. Aleister slowly swirled his fingers in the air, and the orbs followed his movement, circling him. The dull look that always seemed to be on his face was nowhere to be found. He was almost smiling. Then there was a knock at the door. After a split second of panic, the dead-eyed expression was back.

The devil snapped his fingers and turned to another page.

“Unfortunately for our boy, no amount of boyish nicknames or concealing clothes can stop the passage of time,” he murmured, pushing the book back at Dream.

Though he took issue with the word “our,” Dream said nothing, laying his hand on the new page. The worst had yet to come, but it wasn’t far off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> VERY IMPORTANT NOTE FOR CIS WRITERS: Don't deadname your trans characters! As a trans man I'm allowed to take liberties in how our stories are told. I don't condone this in stories not written by trans people. Thanks~!


	29. Chapter 29

Rain pelted the sands of Black Rock Cove as the wind whipped through the trees, making them bend. Aleister’s face was forlorn beneath his hood as he stared out into the stormy ocean. He was soaked, clothes clinging to him, steam rising off his skin. It was too much water to have been from mere rainfall.

“Even the sea won’t take me,” he mused in a broken whisper.

Dream was no expert at ages, but Aleister looked older than thirteen. He didn’t think the story about the lighthouse was a lie, but it was incomplete. Aleister couldn’t get the job done the first time. There was no telling how many other times he came back.

Then he fell to his knees, hands fisting in his hair. His anguished scream was all but swallowed by the crashing of the ocean and the pounding of the rain.

“End it, just end it already,” his hoarse voice chanted like an incantation as he clawed at his face.

Conspicuous by his absence was the devil. Dream was sure he was watching from wherever he was, but he didn’t care. He dropped to the sand, beside the trembling, hunched over boy. He knew he was no more than a phantom of the past, but he needed to say _something_.

“I know you can’t hear me,” he spoke gently. “But…I know this story ends, so, trust me, things aren’t going to be this bad forever. I promise.”

He expected his hand to pass through Aleister’s shoulder but was shocked to land on solid flesh. Aleister gasped, and Dream hastily tore his hand away. The boy shot upright, his response seemingly unrelated to Dream’s presence, and bolted, in the direction of the ruins. Cursing, Dream scrambled to his feet, running after him.

Somehow, even in the imaginary void memory world, or whatever it was, Dream was still capable of getting winded. When he made it back to the shrine, he collapsed against one of the pillars, panting.

Aleister stood before the pedestal. Upon it sat a statue of a serpent, baring its fangs. Aleister grabbed onto it, pushing, but to no avail. He growled, letting go after one final shove. Stepping away, he took a wide stance, summoning his ki to his leg. It was identical to his aura, of course, but it lacked his serene control. Twisting, he knocked the statue down with a single hook kick, shattering it on the ground. As the boy surveyed the pieces, everything clicked in Dream’s head. The sea wouldn’t take him. Aleister needed something to weigh himself down with. A voice surprised both he and Dream.

“I never did like that old thing,” the devil commented, seated at the shrine’s throne.

Aleister scrambled back, his back bumping against a pillar, “I-- I’m sorry, I thought this place was abandoned, I didn’t realize--”

The devil raised a hand, silencing him. Aleister stood up straight, at attention, as though being lectured by the abbot.

“I found it tasteless,” he continued. “I require no worship from mortals. This shrine was dedicated to nothing more than idolatry before its followers were purged.” He chuckled lowly, “Don’t look so nervous, boy. I do not come as your enemy, nor as an avenging spirit.”

Aleister’s entire face lit up at the word “boy.” Dream’s heart sunk. This was it. This was how the devil snared him.

“Don’t do it,” he whispered as if it would change anything.

“This is not the first time you have passed through this shrine,” the devil pretended not to notice how well his plan was working. “You are troubled, are you not?”

Aleister nodded, entranced.

“Come, my child,” the devil waved his hand at the spell circle, lighting it up. “Sit.”

Eyes not leaving the devil’s face, he obeyed, sitting cross-legged where he was instructed.

“Allow me to properly introduce myself,” the devil smiled kindly. “I am Asmodeus, the supreme lord of the nine hells.” He touched Aleister’s forehead, “The blood in your veins is the same as mine. I feel your pain as though it is my own.” He stroked Aleister’s cheek with his claws, “I have come to offer you a way out, not through death, but through new life. I shall strengthen your spirit and bestow upon you anew a body. All you must do in return is offer your soul up to me. When you pass on from this life to the next, it shall be mine. Is this what you wish?”

“Yes,” Aleister didn’t blink or hesitate.

“Remove your hood, my son.”

Asmodeus slipped his hand beneath the folds of his robe, pulling it away bloody. With his nails, he drew a pentagram in his blood on Aleister’s forehead.

“I must give to you one final test. I will cast the spell to give you your new form, but you must hold concentration for an hour. In this hour your body will undergo the pains of each circle of hell. Prove to me your strength. Prove you deserve this.”

With a deep breath, assuming his meditation pose, Aleister firmly replied, “I am ready.”

Words spoken in Infernal echoed through the forest. Thick black smoke rose from the spell circle, cloaking Aleister. It was identical to the smog that had risen off Aleister’s dying soul in the mountains, and it smelled like the hellfire that surrounded Dream’s patron. Memory or not, Dream felt like he was suffocating, too. Sweat had begun beading on his face.

Flames lit up the circle, and Dream jolted back with a scream. It was a quick flare, but the shock remained. Behind the curtain of fire, darkness constricted Aleister’s body. The pitch-black vapors sunk into him. Ashes coated his skin, then fell away. All traces of the spell disappeared, and all that was left was Aleister.

This was the Aleister that Dream knew. He was young and barefaced, with his hair cropped short and only a single tattoo on his body, but it was Aleister, nonetheless. Individually, the changes were subtle. A sharpening of the face, a re-sculpting of the muscles, a flattening of his clothes around his figure. Added up, the adjustments made a world of difference. “Tommy” was gone as he was reformed in Aleister’s image.

For a while he was quiet, his eyes closed. Then his jaw twitched. A whimper of pain slipped out. Marks began appearing on his skin, as though it was being whipped and branded. A sharp, choked off cry made it out before he muffled it. Veins were popping out in his forehead and neck, but he remained still. His nose started bleeding. Agony twisted his face.

“Enough,” Dream finally found his tongue. “That’s enough, I get it, alright? I get it, I’ve seen enough!”

“Can’t stomach it, princeling?” Asmodeus appeared beside him.

“Forgive me for not wanting to watch you torture a child!” He snarled, not caring how powerful Asmodeus was and how much he should not want to be on his bad side.

“You humans are so small-minded,” he tutted, shaking his head. “At least stay for the best part.” He snapped his fingers.

Dream’s vision blurred, but his surroundings stayed the same. Aleister was still seated on the ground, panting and bleeding. A soft red light had lit up the circle, but it was fading away. He opened his bloodshot eyes.

Asmodeus wiped the mark off of Aleister’s forehead. Then he tore open Aleister’s shirt and thrust his claws into his chest. Aleister’s eyes widened as he let out a choked sound of pain. Then it ceased. Asmodeus pulled his hand away, leaving his pact mark on Aleister’s skin.

“You have done well, my child,” he touched Aleister’s head again. “I relieve you of the name your parents burdened you with. In its stead, I give to you the name of another great disciple of magic, and that of the land where we met. You shall be known as Aleister Black.”

“Aleister Black…” Aleister breathed his new name.

“I ask for nothing more in return. I shall be watching you as you grow. If your actions please me, perhaps you will have earned a place at my side in the afterlife.” He rescinded his hand, rising to his feet. “Always remember, Aleister, I did for you what the gods would not.”

As Dream was about to rebuke the devil and his “best part,” it happened. Asmodeus disappeared in Aleister’s memory. He was left alone. He gingerly touched the brand and winced. Then he looked down at his bare chest, his new body, and all its scars. Tears began flowing from the boy’s eyes as he covered a sob with his hand.

With little evidence, Dream knew that was the first time Aleister cried.

The scene blurred. Night fell, and Dream was standing outside the monastery where Aleister was confronting an elderly monk, the old abbot. Not even a day had passed. He was still dressed in his torn, soaked clothes from the cove. His shirt was open, bearing Asmodeus’s mark and all that he had traded his soul for with pride. He and the abbot were mid-argument. Other trainees lingered at the stairs, trying to remain hidden while sating their curiosity.

“You are nothing more than a brash child and you fail to understand the gravity of what you have done,” the abbot hissed.

“No, I understand perfectly!” Aleister shot back. “Savras preaches brutal honesty, even in the face of making enemies. I have chosen to live my truth while you blindly refuse to accept it: the gods have abandoned us. They left me no choice!”

“There is always a _choice_ , Tomasine--”

Aura flaring around his fist, Aleister struck the old man in the face. His body was heaving with his unleashed temper.

“My name is Aleister Black!” He shouted, shaking with rage. “And from this day forth, I answer to neither god nor man!”

The abbot touched his jaw, looking unfazed. He turned his heartless gaze onto Aleister, shaking his head.

“Very well, Aleister Black,” his cold voice dripped venom. “Then you are no longer welcome here. You are dismissed from the Order of the Crystal Eye.”

Aleister was left to fume in silence as the abbot returned to the monastery. There was a murderous look in his eyes that filled Dream with dread. Dream knew the monastery still stood, and unchanged, but the swell of magic around Aleister’s clenched fists gave him pause. Then his hands relaxed, and the curls of mist faded. He was still breathing hard and staring up the steps, but his fury was turning tranquil. Dream imagined it would stay that way for a long while.

In the void, Asmodeus stood over the grimoire on the pedestal. There was a look Dream didn’t expect to see on his face. It was soft, as his fingertips brushed over the pages.

Dream thought back to the words he enticed Aleister with. He claimed they were of the same blood.

“So you watched him for a while,” he commented.

Asmodeus eyed him suspiciously.

“A place at your side,” he echoed. “Like a successor. A son.”

“And what would you know of that?” Asmodeus shot back, voice smooth, yet poignantly harsh.

Dream didn’t take it personally, trying not to smile. He found a weakness. He didn’t know how to exploit it yet, but he was patient. He would stay vigilant.

“You never answered, do you not sympathize with him?” Asmodeus snapped the grimoire shut.

He never gave Dream a chance to answer, but the prince kept his snark to himself.

“Of course I do.”

“And you would not wish more pain upon him?”

Dream gave him a look of disbelief, “Never.”

The devil hummed. Then Dream’s book materialized in his hand.

Pawing through the pages with little delicacy, he commented, “You have always wanted to be special, Velveteen Dream. Most humans have a bloated sense of self-importance, but yours is truly staggering. Royal blood or not, you are a lowborn nobody with a mundane soul. Unloved by your father and abandoned by your mother.” He paused, then let out a subtle chuckle from his throat. “Perhaps that pain is what unwittingly drew you and Aleister together, but it is there where your similarities end.” He discourteously tossed Dream’s book to the floor where it landed at the prince’s feet. “You, who have always wanted to be the chosen one, and Aleister, who is chosen by the Cloven, above all other souls.” He laid a hand on the cover of Aleister’s spellbook. “You have always known Aleister is special, though you knew not the reason why. Now that you understand, you will cling to him like the parasite you are and bring him down to your level of mediocrity. You have dirtied his soul with your mistakes, and damned his chances of happiness in the afterlife. As long as you put your disgusting human hands on him, you will subject him to another life of turmoil and pain.”

Every single barb Asmodeus threw at him was working. It wasn’t fair. He had unlimited access to everything that made up of Dream’s soul. He could do whatever he wanted. Dream was helpless, on the verge of breaking down, and he still didn’t even know what the devil wanted. He didn’t know what it would take to stop him.

Then it clicked.

“Belial is an archdevil,” Dream leisurely lifted his grimoire off the ground, trying to mask how truly shaken he was. “Of one of your,” he made a dismissive waving gesture, “hell circles. Tell the Dream something, are you on bad terms with him?”

Asmodeus fell silent. Dream smirked. He had his answer.

“What I’m getting at,” Dream spoke slowly, as if to a child. “Is once Belial knows one of his little servants has even a fraction of a claim on Aleister’s soul, that’s gonna be a problem. _There’s_ your turmoil and pain. Belial will leverage him against you, won’t he?” He tapped his temple with his index finger, “The Dream may be a lowborn nobody to you, but he knows politics.” He mimed dusting his book off, “I guess you wouldn’t know anything about my strengths, seeing as you only skimmed this to find my faults.”

“You had best hold your tongue, mortal,” the devil snarled.

“Or…what?” Dream feigned curiosity. “Aleister’s soul is directly connected to mine. Are you really going to risk harming him to get rid of me?” He let out a short laugh, “Of course not. You need me to run away on my own. You need me to want to cast the geas to free up Aleister’s soul.”

The fury engulfing Asmodeus’s features ebbed out, replaced with a slow smile. Then he laughed, slow and dark, rising in volume by the second. Dream couldn’t help but shrink back a step.

“Oh, perhaps I did underestimate you, Patrick,” he sneered. “But this bond between you and Aleister? It goes two ways.” He snapped his fingers.

Dream turned at the telltale burst that was Aleister’s aura.

Aleister was seated on Asmodeus’s throne. His eyes were closed and he was breathing hard. His nails scratched at the throne’s stone arms. The way his face twitched and clenched was identical to how it did during the transformation spell. Black trickled out of the corners of his mouth. He lifted his head, only for it to drop forward, too heavy to hold upright. His eyes fluttered open, dazed. The same darkness of Asmodeus’s gaze clouded Aleister’s eyes, pooling at the corners. Each time he blinked it left inky streaks down his face. He let out a pained groan, head falling back again. His mannerisms landed him somewhere between a wounded animal and a reanimated corpse. Something wasn’t right about the way he was moving.

“You feel that, don’t you Aleister?” Asmodeus’s tone changed drastically from the rancor with which he addressed Dream. “The pain of being dragged between hells? This will be your purgatory. Your soul will be torn in two, yet never break. And for what?” He knelt beside Aleister, tall enough to still tower over him, and touched his head, the same way he did when he was a child. “For another human to hurt and abandon you?”

“I’m not going to--!” Dream started to protest.

Aleister’s head tipped to the side, towards Dream. Asmodeus seized his chin and forced him to look at him as he spoke over the prince.

“My child, I am not like this human, I have never lied to you,” he promised. “All that I have done is in your best interest. I am not swayed by selfishness and insecurity. I will not languish under your shadow and throw you away out of jealousy and disgust. You _know_ he will.”

He released Aleister, who continued to look at him, rapt. There was a weakness in his face like the one that had lingered on it before Dream cast the scrying spell. His lower lip trembled, brow knitted up. The black sludge leaking from his despondent eyes made it seem like he was crying.

“Protect yourself, my son,” Asmodeus urged him. “Rid your soul of Belial’s demon and of the mutt that shackles you to him. Do it before he abandons you.”

“Aleister, I’m not going anywhere,” Dream hastily promised.

_“Liar,”_ the guttural snarl came from between Aleister’s bared, bloodstained fangs.

“No, Aleister, _he’s_ the--” Dream pointed to Asmodeus, then trailed off, hand dropping to his side.

Asmodeus straightened up, smiling at Dream. He placed his hand on the backrest of his throne, laying claim to his prize. He and Dream both knew that no amount of mudslinging was going to convince Aleister, not after Asmodeus played the man’s deepest fears like a fiddle.

Pained sobs were rattling in Aleister’s chest. Black blood started spotting his fingers as they rasped against the throne. Dream didn’t know what this manifestation of Aleister was, or if the pain he felt affected the Aleister beyond his soul void, but couldn’t let his suffering continue. Asmodeus was right, he and Dream were nothing alike.

Dream knelt before the throne, gently covering Aleister’s hand with his own. Aleister hissed and flinched. He shook with pain and fear under Dream’s touch, and Dream came to understand what this entity was. This wasn’t the Aleister he knew. This was the scared, lonely child that Aleister locked away after years of failure to heal. This was the boy at the cove with the same dejected eyes as the one that lay broken at the bottom of the stairs. They were children torn from their families and thrust into a world where they were set up to fail. But they didn’t.

“It’s okay,” he rubbed the top of Aleister’s hand with his thumb. “I’m not going anywhere,” he repeated in a far more tender voice. “But he isn’t wrong.”

Dream felt Asmodeus’ questioning gaze on him, but he didn’t look up. His eyes stayed trained on Aleister’s.

“You need to protect yourself,” he continued. “All I want for you is to be safe, and more importantly, happy. You deserve to be happy, and,” he felt himself getting choked up, but he pushed it down, “if I’m not what makes you happy, then go ahead, get rid of me.”

“Dream...?” Aleister whispered his name, head falling to the side.

Chancing it, Dream wiped the black sludge from Aleister’s eye. More of it welled and spilled over, but Dream was unfazed. He kept his hand delicately placed on Aleister’s face as the dark liquids stained his fingers.

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m not indifferent to your choice,” he admitted. “I, with all my heart, hope that whatever ideal future you have in your mind has me in it. Maybe I am selfish after all, but is it so unreasonable to want to be the thing that makes you happiest?”

Absently combing his fingers through Aleister’s beard, Dream leaned in, touching their foreheads together.

The void grew lighter, and it became easier to breathe. It was strange, Dream hadn’t noticed he was struggling to breathe until after it passed. Asmodeus was gone. The threat had passed, and Dream had his answer. Void Aleister had even started to calm down, and was no longer quaking with pain. Dream closed his eyes, trying to cut off the flow of magic, returning him to the real world. When he reached inside, there was no lavender fire. He couldn’t find it. It wasn’t missing, it was just…not where it usually burned inside him. Something in his soul went haywire.

Trying to stay calm, he opened his eyes and addressed Aleister, “My time ran out. I don’t know how long ago. You have to get me out of here, Aleister, I can’t do it on my own. You promised me you would, right?”

Aleister stared at him blankly through glistening nothingness. Dream feared the other man made an empty promise before he went under.

Aleister kissed him softly. The sludge tasted of blood and dirt in Dream’s mouth, but he didn’t shy away. He held Aleister’s face steady as he kissed him back until finally everything around them faded to black. The void was empty once more.


	30. Chapter 30

Horrible, sharp pain constricted Dream’s ribs and rattled in his skull. There was a burning sensation over his sternum. He was overheated, but the uncomfortable warmth was beginning to subside. With a whining noise, he squirmed as though to curl up and go back to sleep. A quiet discomforted noise and a solid feeling of bone against his forehead made Dream realize he headbutted Aleister’s chin. He reluctantly opened his eyes. He was tucked between Aleister’s legs, resting against his chest. Aleister was propped up against the willow tree, arms wrapped around Dream’s waist. Telltale red rings circled his eyes.

Dream gently stroked the weary skin with the pads of his fingers, speaking in a lilting voice, “You found me.”

Aleister closed his eyes and shook his head, “No. _He_ brought you back.”

“That doesn’t sound right,” Dream inflected as though it was a question.

He shrugged, “He, well,” he cut himself off with a pained expression. “I tried to bring you back. It should have been as easy as breaking your concentration, but you were gone.” His grip tightened around Dream’s hips. “I should have pulled you back sooner, it was foolish not to, I could have…” He swallowed, glancing away. “He showed up and put his hand on your chest and said, “tell your princeling this is not the end.””

Without thinking, Dream grazed his hand over his chest, right where the burning feeling was centered. He winced but said nothing.

“...What did he mean by that? What was he doing here?”

“You don’t remember?” Dream couldn’t keep the disappointment out of his voice. “So that wasn’t really you in there?”

Aleister’s confused silence gave him all the answers he needed.

Dream explained everything he saw in Aleister’s soul, as sensitively as he could. There was no easy way to say he witnessed deep-rooted childhood traumas that haunted Aleister to this day. He knew Aleister wouldn’t want him to know about his old name or body, either. Regaling Aleister with his soul searching exploits seemed like a set up to upset him. Regardless, Dream pressed on. Aleister had the right to know. To his credit, he remained calm. The worst response he had was dissatisfied curling of his lip and scrunching of his brow.

When Dream finished, Aleister breathed out a short laugh, “Only you would trade barbs with the Prince of Evil _after_ learning his identity.”

“He wasn’t so impressive,” Dream scoffed. “And I don’t think he wants to risk hurting me yet if our souls are linked. He’s got too big a soft spot for you.”

_“What?”_ Aleister’s bewilderment bordered on offense.

With a thoughtful look, Dream asked, “What did you think he meant when he said you would have a place at his side?”

Aleister blinked at him. Then his face clouded over.

“To be completely honest, nothing. And I didn’t remember he said that until you brought it up.” He sounded agitated. “I was seventeen and--”

“Easy,” Dream soothed, covering Aleister’s tensed hand with his own. “I get it. It’s a sore subject. My point is he referred to you as being handpicked by the Cloven. Called you a chosen one. I think in some twisted way, he cares about you. Or at least, he is very invested in you.”

Aleister’s stiffened arms relaxed, but he looked uneasy.

Under most circumstances, “cares” wasn’t the word Dream found appropriate for Asmodeus’ sentiments. Aleister was a tool, and Asmodeus manipulated him. Yet, there was a softness in his eyes, when he changed Aleister’s life. It was complicated. Moreover, it was something Aleister would have to come to grips with on his own.

Dream tried again, “I think he has plans for you in the afterlife. And if Belial realizes he has any claim over your soul...” He trailed off, letting Aleister draw his own conclusion. “We have to do the summoning ritual before that happens.” He looked at the pact mark on his wrist, half expecting it to have changed, “While we can still break it.”

If Belial knew Dream was the key to Aleister’s soul, there was no doubt in Dream’s mind that he would take it for himself. Aleister had made it clear in the past that there was no geas he could write, no magic he could perform, that could fell an archdevil.

The sight of Aleister languishing and bleeding on the throne was stuck in his head. Asmodeus said he would be trapped in a painful sort of purgatory while his soul was fought over. The way he was trying to manipulate Dream, and then Aleister, into performing the ritual wasn’t a good sign when it came to Dream’s fate. He could only assume breaking his pact would have some kind of a drawback for himself. Ember had pointed out that he could completely lose his magic. He hoped Aleister would have written in some clause to avoid that in the geas, but he had yet to read it to know for sure. What Asmodeus didn’t know, or understand, was that Dream would willingly sacrifice that to save Aleister. He already did it once, and he knew somewhere deep down he could make peace with himself in living life after magic. 

“...And then what?” Aleister’s voice was soft and apprehensive.

Dream raised his eyebrows, “What you mean “and then what”?”

“You will return to Cineia, will you not?” Aleister’s eyes were glum. “You still--”

Dream cut him off with an exaggerated, exasperated groan. He shrugged Aleister’s arms off, flouncing to their pile of bags. Ever since he started training, he kept a journal with him, the makings of his own grimoire. So far it was loose notes about successful spells and ideas for the future. The book itself was nowhere near as beautiful as the one Asmodeus conjured in the void. As he flipped through for a blank page, he resolved to fix that in the near future. For the time being, he had a partner whose mind needed to be put at ease.

“Aleister,” he drew the last syllable out as he ripped out a page. “Aleister, Aleister, Aleister, what am I going to do with you?” He scrawled out his message in charcoal, blowing the words off. “In all this life and death commotion, I’ve forgotten to send my regards to the king.” He folded the letter in thirds and passed it to Aleister with a flick of his wrist. “Proofread this for the Dream.”

Looking both downtrodden and suspicious, Aleister warily accepted the letter. As he read it, his lip twitched, suggesting a grin in spite of himself.

“Don’t look for me,” he read out loud, shaking his head and returning it to Dream. “Could use a signature.”

“I am going to make this magically appear in the king’s hands with as much fanfare as my spell can handle,” Dream informed him as he refolded it. “If he doesn’t know who sent it, he’s beyond help.” Then he gave Aleister a love tap on the forehead with the letter, adding indignantly, “I’m not going anywhere. The more the Dream has to repeat that, the stronger the sentiment grows.”

“You _are_ contentious,” Aleister acknowledged.

“I prefer strong-willed,” he tucked the letter in his bag, sitting across Aleister, legs loosely tangled together.

“Stubborn.”

“Am I blushing? I feel like I’m blushing.” Dream laid a hand on Aleister’s knee. “Right now, with whatever tall tales Cole and his goons brought back to the palace, I need to lay low. I do have a lot of unfinished business in Cineia, so, someday I will go back. But,” he emphasized, with a squeeze of his hand, “once that business is finished, I’m leaving again. As long as you’ll have me, I’m yours.”

Aleister held his gaze for the longest time, stone-faced. Then he made a pained, choking noise, covering his mouth and squeezing his eyes shut. Dream’s heart stopped as he instinctively grabbed for Aleister, wanting to steady him in some way.

“Aleister?” His brow knit together in concern, as he tried to remain calm.

Aleister shook his head, shifting his hand so that his small voice was coherent, “You make me so vulnerable. I hate it.”

Dream let out an annoyed sigh of relief. There had been way too many near-death experiences of late for his personal taste. He didn’t hold it against Aleister for too long. He knew firsthand that there was a lot going on in that head of his. Instead, he put an arm around him, pulling him at his side.

“Who do you think you’re telling?” He murmured, stroking Aleister’s hair. “I haven’t cried this much since I was a little kid.”

Aleister buried his face in Dream’s neck, breathing him in. There was no telltale wetness of tears as Dream expected. He was stressed but managed to hold it together.

“You were right,” he said softly, voice even. “I am…afraid of the light. Of being blinded by it. Or…having it taken from me.”

With all that Asmodeus showed Dream, that came as no shock. Aleister’s physical distress over his perceived vulnerability lined up with everything else. For all that he had overcome, there were so many pieces of him that had yet to heal. Dream understood, more than Aleister could know.

“That may be true,” he conceded. “By the same token, I have spent all this time clamoring for the light when I should have been allowing myself to process in the darkness.” Aleister was looking at him now. “I guess what I’m trying to say is, go ahead and linger in the dark, for however long it takes. I’ll be there, too.”

Aleister kept staring at him, silent. He lightly touched his cheek, thumb skimming across his bottom lip.

“Pretty words,” he murmured, voice still a little broken.

“Do I detect doubt in your voice, Aleister Black?”

Finally, a real smile, with a flash of teeth. “No. And I’m just as surprised as you are. I believe we have a long road ahead of us, together.”

It was a short, simple statement, but coming from Aleister it was quite the proposal and it left Dream speechless. He laid his hand over Aleister’s, gently pulling it away to kiss his palm. He didn’t have to say anything. With their fingers and souls entwined, he accepted. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Interested in more of this AU? Have unanswered questions? Just want more blackvelvet content and are willing to settle for my pretentiousness? Good news! I have a Sort of sequel in the works. It's a collection of one shots including post-endgame stuff, scenes done from alternate perspectives, and general lore I couldn't smush into this. At the time of writing this, I already have two chapters drafted. Nnnot really sure when I'll post it but I've already put too much effort into the two chapters so at the very least those will bubble up sooner or later.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!<3


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